


Unexpected Delight

by HigherMagic



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Asphyxiation, Belts, Blindfolds, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Bottom Will Graham, Breathplay, Breeding, Breeding Kink, Chastity Device, Choking, Cock Cages, Cock Rings, Collars, Condoms, Consensual Somnophilia, Creampie, Crying, Daddy Kink, Declarations Of Love, Dom/sub Undertones, Hand Feeding, Hunters & Hunting, Kink Discovery, Knifeplay, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Missionary Position, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Prostate Massage, Sexual Repression, Top Hannibal Lecter, Top Will Graham, Touch-Starved, Vanilla, primal play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-07-13 22:30:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 61,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16027292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: Based off this Tumblr prompt: Will has a kink that he’s deeply ashamed of.  Unbeknownst to him, Hannibal has the same or a similar/compatible kink.  They get together, and Will is going out of his way as he usually does to seem like his sexual tastes are as “normal” as possible. As a result, Hannibal gets the idea that Will is super vanilla and maybe a little prudish, and not wanting to scare him off, is also keeping his kinky side on the DL.  This goes on for while, with them each trying super hard to hide how kinky they are and act as “vanilla” as possible, to hilarious results, all while privately thinking the other one would be super freaked out if they knew since they’re obviously so sweet and normal.  Of course, eventually somehow all his revealed, and much happy sexytimes are had by all :-)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> y'all motherfuckers ready for a wild ride? I wrote this in 5 hours overnight, I haven't slept, I can see the future, idk what's happening.  
> though Will bottoms throughout the fic there's an implied switch on who doms/controls the situation, though it's mostly the end bit where Will's control issues kinda come out.  
> I also made it less funny, more Hannibal just being totally enamored with Will and not wanting to scare him away and being the 'perfect gentleman'. But of course it doesn't last :P  
> I had more things to say, more notes.........idr. I'm so tired. Enjoy!

When people ask how he and Will met, Hannibal admits it isn't a tale for the ages. It is not the kind of thing that inspires stories, or songs, or feelgood movies that gross in the millions. Nor is it a particularly enthralling story, in his opinion – it is instead one simple, and wonderful in its simplicity.

They met at Alana's birthday party.

Hannibal had arrived late, arms laden with a bottle of wine and a profuse apology on his lips, as Alana smiled, welcomed him, embraced him with a kiss on his cheek and a flush already on hers. Beverly had made a joke about turning twenty-nine for the fifth time, prompting laughter, and Hannibal had excused himself in an effort to ingratiate himself to those gathered, to appear with wine in hand and settled, ready for conversation.

It was in the kitchen where he met Will. Will, with hackles raised and shoulders up, nursing dark whiskey and a darker look, warding any wayward attempt at friendship away. But in his pretty, ocean eyes, Hannibal had seen a spark of interest. Of intent. A smile, tugging on the corners of his mouth like someone was pulling strings.

Hannibal had returned it, asked his name, given his own when he heard it. Will softened to him, as most people do when they allow themselves to, and made some passive remark about them both being exiles to the kitchen. That joke turned into playful teasing, a reprimand against shrugging off such an important room. It is the kitchen, after all, where Hannibal lays claim to his domain.

A raised eyebrow, a raised chin. A wide smirk and whiskey-glazed eyes. A challenge to cook. A challenge to dine – offered, taken. Then, one single alcohol-laced kiss, with Will's back to the counter, his cheeks flushed a lovely rose-pink, his eyes darkening to something off-blue, navy, full of tides and monsters.

Hannibal had asked for his number, received it, and invited him to dinner the next night. And Will had come, still flexed, ruffled at the nape like a stray dog, but well-groomed and dressed as well as an FBI profiler and teacher could afford. His tastes appeared refined enough, complimenting the crispness of the wine, the subtle scent of cinnamon flavoring the roast.

And they had talked, and they had laughed. The rest, as they say, is history.

 

 

Their courting process was longer than most, if Hannibal cares to measure its length. For in truth, every evening with Will flies and stills, like the clock doesn't dare tick, and yet the sun rushes onward, like it too wants to see a glimpse of such lovers even as the moon is afforded her greedy gaze.

Will had never been with a man. He told Hannibal this plainly, and though Hannibal wanted to ask why the abrupt change in scenery, he didn't. He was altogether too pleased, too proud, too flattered to ask. And so he resolved to be a complete gentleman, to take their increasing proximity and intimacy at Will's pace. So, when Will wanted to leave, he left. When he wanted to stay, he stayed, though chastity and nerves kept them from much more than kissing in Hannibal's bed.

But Hannibal enjoys touch, whether it's sexual or not. And, he soon grew to realize, so did Will. His beautiful lover was borderline touch-starved when Hannibal first found him, aching to the bone for a kind word, a smile, a gentle brush of fingers along his cheek, along his neck. Lower, lower still. A hand in Will's hair calmed him even in the worst of moods. A kiss to the back of his neck? He might be mute for hours after the fact.

And Hannibal was aware of this, when Will finally bared his flesh, arched against Hannibal's hands with more intent than what he'd given before. His hands splayed over Hannibal's back, legs spread so his strong thighs encased Hannibal's hips, the soft ' _Ah, ah, fuck'_ s Hannibal managed to wring from his lovely, warm mouth. He had kissed Will, touched him with gentle, affectionate hands, brought him to the brink of release, until his shoulders sagged and his belly grew tight, stroking him inside and out, until Will finally opened for him, and breathed out a ragged, desperate moan of Hannibal's name. To his neck, to his cheek, to his mouth, as Hannibal covered him, consumed him, and gave his body in its entirety to Will's release, then took Will's for his own, until they were both sweaty, and Will's seed was thick on his stomach, Hannibal's pooling uncomfortably in the condom he wore.

And he had cleaned Will up, like a gentleman, offered him a shower and found his smile soft with affection when Will merely gave a sleepy groan of protest, wrapping himself up in Hannibal's arms and already half-asleep. Even if it was missionary in the dark, it was lovely, because it was with Will.

 

 

Though Will's appetites grew teeth, and his hunger for Hannibal bordered on overindulgence, they did not stray from that pattern. Missionary in the dark. Once, Hannibal caught Will as he was rolling, his hands freezing as Will tensed and let out a soft, questioning whine. He didn't ask – clearly Will was uncomfortable with the idea of having sex on his belly. And if that was the case, Hannibal wouldn't push him. Will had given him so much, offered himself entirely, every inch of him dedicated to bringing Hannibal pleasure when they were like this, encased in sheets, in darkness.

Hannibal couldn't see his eyes, could only kiss him, and he ached. His hands itched to curl, to grab, to assert himself over Will. He's sure Will would enjoy it, if he gave it a chance. But that's a conversation that feels too soon, and he would never want to make Will feel like he wasn't enough, if Hannibal asked of him things he felt he couldn't give.

So Hannibal settled himself, kept a lid on his desires. He could control himself, he _would_. Will was worth it. Hannibal took him to dinners, to dances, to the Opera and the theatre. Will took him fishing – a spectacular failure on Hannibal's part, for he managed to hook not one single fish, but the look on Will's face, his smile dimpling his wind-red cheeks, the sweet mop of mussed hair over his bright eyes made it worth it.

 

 

They dined, the conversed. They drank, and they kissed, and they basked in one another's company. Hannibal had never met someone he felt understood him so deeply – Will's eyes were sharp, and while the stray-dog defensiveness had quickly thawed, his icy eyes remained as keen and observant as ever. He seemed to know when Hannibal's desire for him crested even before Hannibal did, cued him with a downward flutter of lashes, an upward tilt of his mouth. The sweet slip of his tongue between teeth, a sigh, a shift of weight.

And Hannibal goes to him, lured in, hooked. He cups Will's face with gentle hands, kisses his lovely mouth – nips, just once, at his lower lip, and Will shivers, and sighs. Well, that is one thing he can do, at least.

Will's hands flex on Hannibal's wrists, slide down his exposed forearms like he's measuring the jut and judder of muscle, the strength there. He stands, curls against Hannibal's chest, sweet and eager. Hannibal wants to growl, wants to put his hands to Will's hips, turn him and pull him tight, back to chest, wants to see if Will would let himself be taken right here, in Hannibal's study.

But Will trembles, an eager sigh slipping from his mouth, and he pulls back, irises deep-ocean-blue, flooded with his wide pupil. He bites his lower lip, touches fingers to the redness there from Hannibal's teeth. His cheeks are dark red, rare meat that Hannibal wants to kiss, and he does, lips gentle on Will's cheek where his beard stops.

Will swallows, harshly, his shoulders suddenly tense. Hannibal pulls back, worried he may have overstepped.

Then, shyly – though not shy, that's not the right word. Shy implies indecision. Will is not undecided, merely nervous. "We've been together for a while, now," he murmurs. "Exclusively."

Hannibal nods.

"Do you -? I mean." Will clears his throat, blinks once, lifts his eyes. "I don't want you to wear a condom tonight. I want to feel you. All of you."

Hannibal breath leaves him in a ragged gasp. He knows Will is clean, could smell the purity on him like sea salt and cinnamon, and though he hasn't had a bedfellow in a while before Will, he made sure to get himself checked, once they became intimate. The fact that Will doesn't ask, that he trusts, overwhelms him where he stands.

But he nods, and Will smiles – this time it is shy, coyly pleased, but charming as ever. Hannibal kisses him again, drags his fingers into the soft curls of Will's hair, tighten.

"Do you wish to go to bed now?" he asks of Will's lips, receives a shaky sigh and a swift nod in answer. Hannibal smiles, and slides his hands down Will's shoulders, to his wrists. He takes Will's hands, kisses his knuckles, and leads him towards the bedroom.

Will follows eagerly, shivering as the door closes behind him. The lights remain off, as Hannibal knows Will prefers it this way. He tugs at Will's shirt, pleased when Will turns, his smile wide against Hannibal's cheek, and then ducks his head to let Hannibal pull it off him. Will used to come to him in button-downs and slacks, things that were respectable but irritating to remove. Now, he dresses comfortably, at home in Hannibal's space, in t-shirts and jeans and sometimes sweatpants when he spends the night and the next day over.

Hannibal loves him like this, without layers, vulnerable and exposed. Even when Will has shirts on, the contrast between his sweaters, his button-downs, his coats, and the thin layer of cotton that is a single shirt, hinting at strong shoulders, his broad chest, and bares the vulnerable arch of his throat? Hannibal's mouth goes dry at the very sight of him.

Will seems energized tonight, bold and brazen by his eagerly-accepted request. He kisses Hannibal passionately, tongue between Hannibal's teeth, coaxing him closer as they move to and fall across the bed. Hannibal covers him, gentle on Will's exposed skin.

Will is beautiful, even in the darkness. He is soft where Hannibal presses, hard where his bones jut and his muscles flex. Hannibal is sure, if he could catch Will in a single moment of static, that his sketchbooks would be full of him in poses much like this. As it stands now, all Hannibal is afforded are cheeky smiles, a flash of eyes – quick, full-of-motion sketches that do nothing to compare to Will's beauty.

He pulls away from Will's mouth, nuzzles his neck and Will sighs, cradling his fingers behind Hannibal's head. He is so gentle, so sweet. Another wave of feral, base need rises in Hannibal, savagely beaten back as he struggles to maintain his decorum. He would never forgive himself if he pushed Will too far, frightened him in the darkness.

His hands slide to Will's jeans, loose on his hips and with no belt to hold them up. He pushes at them, catches Will's underwear in the same motion and slides them down his thighs. Will's hips lift, helping, and his fingers push at Hannibal's shirt, tug and dig in, making him rise to his knees and pull it over his head, throwing it to one side along with the rest of Will's clothes.

Will whines, the sound unsure, uneasy, and he reaches for Hannibal again. Hannibal takes one hand, kisses his palm, and lets Will touch his chest with the other, waits for Will to settle, his thighs to go lax. His sweet, unsure thing. How could Hannibal ever want to damage him?

Will's free hand drags down, finds the thin trail of greying hair that leads to Hannibal's cock. His fingers tremble when they encircle it, a gentle tug just below his swollen cockhead, urging Hannibal closer. Hannibal falls over him with a growl, finds his mouth, kisses him fiercely. Will sighs into it, relaxing under his weight, and Hannibal loves that Will trusts him so much, allows himself to be pinned, to be covered, and mounted.

Even this much.

Hannibal pulls away, smiling and nuzzling Will when he whines. "I have to get you ready, darling," he murmurs.

Will's breath hitches, his fingers tighten on Hannibal's cock, before they release him, and Hannibal moves off the bed, the plot of land well-known even in shadow by now with how many nights Will has spent warming his dark bed. He strips from the rest of his clothes, shivering when feverish skin meets cool air, and retrieves the bottle of lubricant from the top drawer of his bedside table.

He returns to Will, settling between his thighs. Will's legs are spread to give him room, and there's a pillow underneath his hips now, allowing for better access.

Hannibal smiles, wets his fingers with lubricant, sets the bottle to one side. His dry hand finds Will's thigh, slides up it until he reaches the short-trimmed thatch of dark hair, fingers of his other hand sliding behind Will's balls, slicking his perineum and pressing there once, just briefly, before he finds Will's hole. Will is impatient at times like this, has no appreciation for foreplay.

He curls all fingers but one, pushes against Will's rim, smiling when Will's body parts with a trembling sigh, allowing him in. He imagines how Will might look, head thrown back, eyes closed and tight with pleasure. The sink of his belly, the harsh rise of his chest. Hannibal desires to see it all, a rabid need that makes his teeth itch, his eyes ache. But he resists the urge to ask Will to turn on the light, resists the urge to press. It would be unfair, especially at a time like this, where reward might be skewed into pressure.

He pushes in, deep into Will, crooking his finger up in a way he knows Will likes, viscerally satisfied at the high-pitched moan he receives, eager encouragement, a shuddering breath. Will's hand flexes in his own, curls so he can touch Hannibal's face, and Hannibal rears over him, plants his free hand to the mattress and leans down to steal a kiss from Will's open, panting mouth.

"Please," Will whispers, tight with strain. Impatience. "Another."

Hannibal tilts his head to one side, but obliges, drawing his finger almost all the way out and pressing in with two. Will shifts, trembles, but opens for him, his muscles spasm-tight around Hannibal's fingers. And Hannibal is suddenly dry-mouthed, heavy with the knowledge that he will feel Will entirely, for the first time. No latex, no irritating barrier of friction and control. He will pierce Will, and fill him to bursting.

He growls, and Will shivers again, leaning up for another kiss. His hands find Hannibal's shoulders, dig in, drag feather-light. Not harsh enough. Hannibal wants claws.

_Calm down._

He kisses Will, forces his lips to remain soft, not to bare his teeth, not to bite. Will moans for him, hips twitching up, seeking pressure, seeking more. Hannibal pushes his fingers deep, quirks them up and smiles when Will's breath hitches, his prostate found.

"Hannibal," Will breathes, stutters, weak. "I'm ready."

Hannibal kisses him again. "Are you sure, darling?" he asks, for he normally works Will up to three fingers and brings him much closer to the edge, allowing his muscles to go loose with want. It makes everything easier.

Will nods, sucks in a breath when Hannibal pulls his fingers out. He clutches at Hannibal's neck, draws him in again, wraps his legs around Hannibal's hips and digs his heels into the backs of his thighs. Hannibal puts his lube-slick hand to his cock, shuddering in anticipation of feeling Will, and he rests his forehead against Will's, wishes he could see his eyes.

He pushes in, and Will goes tense, shivering, whimpering low. Hannibal pauses, a half-uttered question on his tongue, but Will kisses him, tightens his thighs, lifts his hips. He's more demanding than usual, and Hannibal is glad for his eagerness. It settles him, soothes the prickle-bite of _not enough_ in the back of his head, as he resumes his course, pushes into Will. Feels his muscles part, spasm, settle. Will moans, over-loud in the quiet of their bedroom.

He makes a weak sound, as though embarrassed, and Hannibal growls, kisses him, puts his clean hand in Will's hair. "Don't be ashamed, darling," he says, wants to snarl 'Yes, yes sweet boy, let me hear you'. "I like hearing how good I make you feel."

Will lets out a desperate, ragged noise, half a whimper, half a groan. He kisses Hannibal deeply, accepting Hannibal's cock inside of him as any gracious host. Hannibal puts his free hand, wet with remaining lube, on Will's hip, holds him steady on the pillow as he thrusts inside, until he cannot go farther. Will is so _hot_ around him, the sensation of his spasming body lighting Hannibal up from the inside. It feels so much better, so much _more_ , without latex and confinement. Hannibal trembles, starting to sweat, and Will cards his fingers through Hannibal's hair, drags him down, drags him in.

This is new, tantalizing, and Hannibal wants to savor it. But by its very nature, he cannot. Will is so tight, so warm, so welcoming for him. He wants to wait, finds he can't – pulls back and ruts in again and a burst of high, needy sound comes from behind Will's teeth.

He licks at the source, lets Will moan into his mouth, lets Will tug at his hair, and Hannibal starts to move. As tightly pressed as they are, Will's cock finds friction in the slope of Hannibal's stomach, and he doesn't reach for it like normal, doesn't stroke himself to fine completion under Hannibal's body. Instead, his energy seems dedicated to kissing, to tightening his thighs, his ass around Hannibal's cock. Like he needs Hannibal inside of him, deeper, _deeper_ , and Hannibal wants to give it to him. He wants to give Will everything.

"Mm, _fuck_ ," Will growls, parting from their kiss, breathing deep against Hannibal's neck. Ragged, panting, hot. His body spasms as Hannibal's cockhead finds his prostate and Hannibal tightens his hand, shifts Will's hips, tries to angle him so he's pressing there with every thrust. " _Yes_ , yes, Hannibal – God, please. Please, harder."

Hannibal does not allow his hips to still, cannot afford to pause and consider Will's begging. But his heart races, crashes, stutters in his chest. Will has never been so brazen, so vocal in their bed. He has been, until this point, a passive yet eager lover, simply appreciating the act of sex, accepting Hannibal's greater experience with grace and need in equal measure. He asks for nothing, demands nothing, knowing and trusting that he will enjoy what Hannibal does to him because he has never received an indication that he won't.

And yet, now – now that Hannibal is fucking him bare, now that Hannibal is growling, mounting him, fucking deep, will spill inside of him in a mess of seed and lubricant – he is incensed. He is begging. He tugs on Hannibal's hair, on his hips, as though every inch of his being is calling out, desperate for Hannibal to answer.

It is a deep-seated burn, a desperate thing rising up Hannibal's spine. He cannot give it voice, can only growl and kiss Will and feel his lover's body tighten, spasm, clench up as Hannibal obeys him, the frantic roll of their bodies making the bed creak and groan as they do.

Then, Will suddenly goes still, and throws his head back, a weak moan trembling from his lungs as he bears down and Hannibal stills inside of him, breathing heavily, wide-eyed as he feels Will coming, feels the slick warmth spilling between their bellies.

Untouched.

Will shivers, and Hannibal smiles, kissing his neck where he's sweet with sweat. He starts to pull back – anal sex after orgasm can be uncomfortable, and Will has always been more than happy to finish him in other ways – but Will whines, tightens his legs around Hannibal's hips.

He breathes out, lifts his nose to Hannibal's neck, and says with utmost sweetness; "Keep going."

Hannibal trembles, tightens his arms, slides them up Will's flanks until he finds Will's heaving ribs. He turns his head, cheek to cheek, breathes deeply. He doesn't ask if Will is sure. His own need is pulsing in his head, burrowing deep behind his gut. He won't last much longer.

"Tell me if it hurts," he says.

Will nods, and Hannibal growls, face to Will's neck as he starts up his rhythm again. Will is making such sweet, ruined noises – and Hannibal can smell the flicker-sharpness of pain, of oversensitivity. But Will doesn't ask him to stop – begs, in fact, in silence, with his thighs and his hands and his high sounds, for Hannibal to keep going. He keeps Hannibal's face to his neck, like Hannibal is a nursing child, eager to share the rush of his blood, the vitality of his sweat-salted throat.

Hannibal's lips twitch, curl back. He edges his teeth along Will's hammering pulse, feels it slow beneath his tongue, growls as Will tenses, and yet does not pull him back. Will clutches at him, breathes deep.

Begs; "Harder, Hannibal. Deeper."

His voice is lower, now, rough from use, and his nails dig into Hannibal's spine, into his nape. He arches up, squeezes Hannibal tightly, and Hannibal shudders, neck to knee, judders and grabs at Will's sides, digging in with his own sharp nails.

"That's it," Will says, a growl all his own. Hannibal imagines him with bared teeth, half-lidded eyes, the feral glow of something wild in them, the same animal that had intrigued Hannibal upon their first meeting.

Hannibal presses deep, goes still, shivering as his gut clenches and his thighs tremble, on the edge of release. He needs _something_ – needs, needs -.

Will sighs, tilts his head back, exposes his neck for Hannibal's mouth, and Hannibal cannot – he _can't_ -. Will's body spasms around him, deliberate and tight, and he rakes a hand down Hannibal's spine.

"That's it, baby," he growls. "Come in me. Fill me up."

Hannibal's breath escapes him in a guttural snarl, and he fists a hand in Will's hair, tilts his head, and bites down on his exposed neck. Will tenses, breath hitching, and he moans as Hannibal finishes, pressed as deep as he can, rutting his hips against Will's so that his seed spills as deep as it can go. Until it cannot leak back out.

Hannibal's teeth abruptly gentle, and he gasps when he realizes what he's done. Will's flesh is warm, bruised beneath his teeth. He didn't break skin, but it surely hurt. He kisses Will there, as soft and gentle as he can. Will's hands shake, thighs trembling, as Hannibal pulls out of him. Will's breath is ragged, uneven, and Hannibal reaches for him, pulls Will into his arms and presses a kiss to his hair.

"I'm so sorry, darling," he murmurs.

"It's -. It's alright," Will replies. He sounds shaken, unsure again, and Hannibal sighs, closing his eyes. He pets through Will's hair, as he knows it will soothe, and Will tilts his head up, seeking a kiss. Hannibal kisses him chastely, knees the pillow out of the way, and pulls the sheets back so that they can slide beneath them.

Despite his rude behavior, Will curls into Hannibal, eager as ever. His cheek rests on Hannibal's shoulder, one hand on his racing heart. Will is smiling, the bulge of his cheek and the smear of slick on his belly reminding Hannibal that he had, at least, been a good lover to Will, before losing control of his teeth.

He turns his head, kisses Will's hair. "Would you like to clean up, before we sleep?" he asks, as he always does.

And, as he always does, Will huffs, and shakes his head, hair tickling Hannibal's neck. "Sleep first," he murmurs, half-lost behind a yawn. "Shower later."

Hannibal smiles, and turns on his side to face Will, his bicep becoming Will's pillow. Will falls asleep quickly, his breathing turning even as Hannibal pets through his hair.

 

 

Hannibal usually wakes before Will, and today is no exception. He rises from bed, the sunlight streaming in and painting the air in soft blues and gold. He regards Will, his affectionate smile soured at the red, raw-looking bruise on Will's neck.

A bruise _he_ left.

Hannibal touches his own lips, deeply troubled as he dresses and heads downstairs to prepare coffee and breakfast. He will have to make amends for treating Will so terribly. Will isn't into that sort of thing – he's not rough, doesn't crave certain things like Hannibal does. He's sweet and patient and pure, modest and vanilla, and Hannibal would do well not to unleash his depravities on his unsuspecting lover.

A lifetime of repression is better than a lifetime without Will.

Still, his mind races. If Will wants to leave, Hannibal will let him, but he hopes, terribly, that Will is willing to stay, to listen, to accept his apology. Hannibal cannot accept that Will was alright after last night. He couldn't see Will's eyes, and his voice had been too shaken to discern true emotion. No matter how sweetly he clung, no matter how trusting he was in Hannibal's arms, Hannibal had overstepped last night. Moderately, but still.

No consent. No permission. No evidence it was something Will wanted in the first place.

His mind is not on the food as he cooks, but he manages a meagre offering of a protein scramble – sausage, bell peppers, chilis, eggs. He brews coffee for Will and, by the time everything is done, Will emerges in the kitchen threshold.

To Hannibal's infinite relief, he's not dressed to leave, clutching his bag like a shield and averting Hannibal's eyes. Indeed, he looks as vulnerable and sweet as ever, heat-flush on his cheeks and his hair a messy mop on his head.

Still, the blaring evidence of Hannibal's misstep stands out stark on his pink neck, and Hannibal swallows, lowering his eyes.

Will grunts in greeting, smiling and rubbing at the corner of his mouth. "Coffee?" he asks, and Hannibal nods, pouring him a mug and holding it out to him. Will takes it, head tilted when Hannibal makes no move to step closer. His brow furrows, clears, he looks away. "Smells good," he murmurs. His voice sounds rough, hoarse, and Hannibal winces internally, knowing why. "What's for breakfast?"

"A sausage scramble," Hannibal replies, though he makes no move to plate and serve the food. Will's eyes flash back to him, narrowed, assessing.

He clears his throat and sets his mug down, coffee untouched.

"Hannibal," he begins.

"I want to apologize, Will," Hannibal says, before he can hear Will's rejection, his dismissal. His lover can be remarkably cruel sometimes, with his words, with a flash of his eyes. Though Hannibal has never borne the brunt of it himself, he has seen in Will's eyes when his class disappoints him, when he scours over essays or speaks to those who do not meet his standards; the harsh, cold-cut glass of his gaze, the clench of his jaw, the sharpness of his words all angled as cat claws to maim, to tear. Hannibal could not survive that.

Yet Will frowns, and looks more confused than anything else.

"I bit you," Hannibal adds. "I didn't mean to." But he did, he _did_. "I…I got carried away, and I'm supremely sorry." He swallows. "It won't happen again."

Will licks his lips, straightens up, and holds out a hand to stay Hannibal's words. His other hand rises, brushing over the mark on his neck. He winces, and Hannibal's gut turns heavy, his tongue sour, at the look of pain that crosses his lover's face.

"Hannibal," Will says again, stone-heavy, unyielding. Their eyes meet, lock, and Hannibal thinks he sees a darkness there, something that he is seldom allowed to view. Will takes a step forward, both hands dropping, fingers of one splaying nonchalantly on the kitchen counter. "Is this something you're into? Biting?"

Hannibal presses his lips together. Wants to lie.

Will's eyes sharpen, his mouth thins. "Be honest," he murmurs, coaxing, sweet.

Hannibal sighs, and nods. Will tilts his head, shows his neck, and Hannibal doesn't know if it's deliberate or not, but the sight maddens him. "But you're not," he replies. "And I don't want to harm you, Will. It's not an act of violence – I mean, that's not how I mean it."

Will hums, lips pursed. He looks down his hand, curls his fingers, drums his knuckles against the counter, twice. _Tap tap._ A minute passes, or an hour, or a year. Hannibal is frozen. Perhaps he shouldn't have said anything at all.

"Who says I'm not into it?" he finally says.

Hannibal blinks, stutters, resets in place. Will looks up below his lashes, demure, almost coy. Gauging Hannibal's reaction as a mouse gauges a trap.

Hannibal frowns. "You like pain?" he asks.

Will flushes, bites his lower lip, looks away. Hannibal immediately feels foolish, chastising himself for the impudent, blunt question. But he steps forward, and Will looks more guarded now, as though he's embarrassed.

"I…like the idea of you biting me," he confesses. "I liked it, last night." His eyes lift, beguiling and such a lovely blue, stained glass and sea stones. "And if you wanted to do it again, I'd be okay with it."

Hannibal's breath catches, his eyes wide, and Will smiles, straightening and leaning into him. Hannibal's hands catch him on autopilot, drag him close, one in his soft hair, the other at his hip. Will kisses him, lifting to his toes to do it, and hums with faint pleasure when they part.

"Now I believe there was some mention of food?"

Hannibal nods, his smile wide and relieved. Will isn't going to leave. Will is staying – and he liked it. He liked it and he'd let Hannibal do it again. He can scarcely believe his luck.

"Go to the dining room," he tells Will. "I shall bring our meals out shortly."

Will nods, accepting the instruction, his cheeks still a delicate pink. He takes his coffee and holds it close, traipsing slowly towards the dining room.

"Hannibal?" he calls, and Hannibal straightens, looks over his shoulder to find Will's eyes piercing him, spearing him in place. "Is there anything else I should know about, that you're into?"

Hannibal blinks, swallows. His fingers curl, clench so tight he almost snaps the spatula beneath his thumb. He clears his throat.

"Nothing comes to mind," he replies, too-lightly. After all, Will might not be scared away by the occasional love bite, but that pales in comparison to the rest of it. "And you?" he asks, curious.

Will bites his lower lip, eyelids fluttering to half-mast, and takes a sip of his coffee. "No," he replies slowly, lips tilted up at the corners in his wolfish smile, in a way that makes Hannibal's heart stutter. Can Will tell he's lying? Is Will lying? His brain goes still at all the possibilities, burning with curiosity, heavy in his exhale as he turns away from Will.

"Go sit down," he says, a tad sharply.

Will huffs a laugh, Hannibal's tone sliding off him like water from a duck's back. "Yes, Sir," he calls, playful and teasing.

Hannibal almost drops his plate.

 

 

Hannibal is not a fool. He knows Will has been exposed, just as he has, to the more depraved and kinky side of the human mind. Hell, half the killers out there are acting out some sort of sexual perversion, and Hannibal, well, Hannibal is a keen study of the human mind, and body, in all its facets.

It's not that Will is untried, he's sure. Will is a grown man, and has had lovers before. Even with his inexperience regarding other men, Hannibal is sure he has sampled much of what he wants to sample in his lifetime. To assume otherwise would be a disservice to the man.

And so Hannibal must come to the conclusion that Will, with his knowledge and experience of human nature, has simply chosen to reject it. Which is fair – there are certain things Hannibal himself does not care to indulge in – and while he would love to attempt to draw Will deeper into such a circle, he would not risk his relationship with the man on the off-chance of success.

Hannibal is a reasonable, practical person, and he weighs odds and consequences like ratios of ingredients in his recipes. He cannot afford to have the scales tip.

He is resolute to this decision, and intends to stand firm by it.

Until Will calls him.

His name flashes upon Hannibal's phone screen, stealing focus, and Hannibal frowns, picking it up and answering swiftly. Never in their relationship has Will called him at work, preferring instead to arrange their dates via text, or in the hours of the day prior.

"Will, darling, are you alright?" he asks.

Will's laugh is bright, happy. "Of course," he replies. "Can't I just call you, and want to hear your voice?"

Unbidden, Hannibal smiles. So sweet, so wonderful, his Will.

"Oh, Will, of course you can," he replies, his voice scarcely more than a purr. Will's breath grows quiet, unsteady, and Hannibal sits back in his chair. "Are you out with Jack today?"

"Mm, no," Will replies. He sounds somewhat breathless, as though he's been running. "No. I stink. Went home to shower and get a change of clothes." Almost on cue, Hannibal hears one of Will's dogs barking, hears the man shush it. He smiles.

"I'd like to apologize in advance," he says. "I've heard it said that, after unprotected sex, the body leaks for quite some time. And semen has a particular, distinctive smell."

He stops. Will's breath has hitched, sharply, like he's holding it behind his teeth. Hannibal tilts his head to one side, considering. Remembers how eager Will had been, at the prospect of being fucked bare. The way he'd begged 'Fill me up', the tremble in his thighs and the rough claw of his fingers when Hannibal was close, when he came.

Will swallows, like he senses the teeth in Hannibal's silence. "I haven't noticed," he says, voice rough. Dry. He clears his throat. "But I'll remember that, in case I don't have time to shower before I have to be around anyone civilized."

Hannibal huffs a laugh, the tension melting, but lingering like wax gathered on a candlestick. Still there, still able to be molded and melted again, if redrawn.

He hears Will's smile when he speaks again. "Can I come over again, tonight?"

"Absolutely," Hannibal replies, without hesitation. "You are always welcome in my home, Will. No matter the hour."

Will hums, sounding pleased. Then, he goes quiet, save for the sound of his breathing. Hannibal doesn't know if Will wants him to keep talking, but he enjoys Will's silences as much as their conversation – Will is unique in that aspect. He enthralls Hannibal in all things, whether in sleep, while reading, while speaking with tipsy animation. He is beautiful, and he is Hannibal's.

An idea occurs to him, a wisp of smoke that purrs and flexes behind his eyes.

"In fact," Hannibal says, and can almost hear Will's shoulders straighten, and roll, as he readies himself for Hannibal's voice. "You should come to my home at seven. Wear something comfortable, and low-cut," he says. The instructions are not particularly risqué, but this is by design. It's different, because they are instructions. "I want to see your neck."

Will's breath trembles. Hannibal imagines him pressing his thighs together as he does when he's turned on, imagines his pretty eyes wide and black, his lips parting. Imagines the flex of his knuckles, the stark line of tendons and muscle, the strength in them curling.

"Okay," he says, softly.

"Good," Hannibal purrs, lets the praise settle Will, steal his breath again. His lover is always so sweet and responsive to praise. "I'll see you at seven, darling."

"See you," Will breathes, and then the call ends, and Hannibal is smiling. Arousal and anticipation curl as twin snakes in his belly, and he hums to himself, thinking of what he will prepare for Will, for a meal.

Oysters, perhaps. Chilis, garlic. Asparagus. For dessert, something with chocolate. Something rich, and heavy, that will flavor Will's tongue. He thinks of breaking off pieces of chocolate for Will, feeding him by hand, watching Will's pretty lips and delicate tongue lick his fingers clean for any trace, the man kneeling at his feet, eyes wide and rapt, thirsty for any attention.

His stomach sinks in, clenches, and Hannibal straightens, attempting to shake the thoughts away. It won't do to let himself get carried away as he did when he bit Will. Will's acceptance of his desires was rare, surprising, and Hannibal would do well to remember that. He cannot possibly expect Will to sate every need, every desire, no matter how much Hannibal wants to ask.

He keeps his mind on food, and only food, until the hour turns to five and he leaves his office, a spring in his step.

 

 

Will arrives precisely on time, using the key Hannibal gave him to enter the house. Hannibal lifts his head, smiling at the sounds of Will shedding his coat and shoes, making himself at home as easily as he always has. He finds such pleasure in knowing Will is comfortable here, moves about the house like he lives here as well.

Will emerges at the kitchen threshold, and Hannibal's heart skips a beat in his chest.

Will is wearing black slacks, a shade too-tight, and they cling to his hips and thighs, form-fitting without being blatantly inappropriate. His shirt is a light blue, highlighting the flush on his cheeks from the wind, the bright glassiness of his eyes. It clings to him also, and dips low on his neck, exposing the hollow between his collarbones. And, of course, the bite. It has darkened to a bruise, now, purple-yellow at the edges.

Hannibal swallows his mouthful of saliva, and smiles at Will. Finds it returned, tentatively. Will regards him as one might a hunting cat, as though the kitchen island is a wall separating them. Hannibal sets down the steamer of asparagus, wipes his hands on a towel, and circles the island.

He leans against it, watches how Will's eyes darken and rake down him. The younger man appears ravenous, and his throat moves when he swallows.

Hannibal smiles, and beckons him over with one finger. Will appears to almost sag, steps unsteady and hurried as he crosses the threshold, into Hannibal's web, into his arms. He sinks against Hannibal's chest, sucking in a breath that is sharp with want, and leans up for a kiss.

Hannibal's smile widens, and he sets his hand over the bite on Will's neck, forcing him to remain still, robbing him of a kiss. He meets Will's eyes, finds them dark with subtle outrage at being denied, and lowers his lips instead to Will's cheek, to his jaw.

Finally, over the mark on his neck. He kisses the bruising there, pleased when Will shivers and his bare arms and his neck break out in goose bumps, fine skin pebbling and flushing under his lips.

Will whines, hands flat on Hannibal's chest, shaking finely when Hannibal pulls back. He kisses Will, then, rewarding his indulgence, and Will sighs, sags to him again, lets out a soft hum of pleasure as Hannibal kisses him, tastes coffee and mint on his tongue.

They part, and Will's pupils are wide, cheeks a sweet pink. He licks his lips, bites his lower one. "What are we having?" he asks.

Hannibal smiles. "Oysters in a half-shell," he replies. "With steamed asparagus and chilis."

Will's eyebrow rises. "Oysters?" he repeats. Hannibal knows what he's really asking. "Aren't those -?"

"An aphrodisiac, yes," Hannibal finishes for him, grinning when Will blinks, blush darkening and spreading down his bared neck. "Though it gives me no end of pleasure to know that you don't need them."

He brushes his thumb over Will's collarbone, delights in the shiver and soft gasp he receives in answer. So tactile. So responsive. He sighs. "My beautiful boy," he whispers, and Will's lashes flutter, eyes widening in a subtle flash of shock – of pride, mixed with sheepish humility that Hannibal so adores. Hannibal smiles, and kisses Will again.

Will arches into him again, momentarily robbing Hannibal of thoughts of their dinner. But then he pulls away, his cheeks and neck a dark, medium-rare pink now, and he slides his hands down Hannibal's chest, then away. There is a bottle of white wine on the island, one glass full already, the other sitting empty. Will pours himself a glass, fingers shaking, and Hannibal smiles, returning his attention to preparing dinner.

Will tilts his glass up, swallows a large mouthful down in one gulp, and Hannibal looks to him, brows raised. Will sets his glass down, rolls his shoulders, something contemplative and heavy furrowing his brow, creating lines on his forehead.

Hannibal lets him think, lets him stew. Will is a creature of constant motion, whether it's mental or physical strain, and if the day was hard for him, Hannibal will not force him into conversation before he is ready. He would not force Will into anything, before he was ready.

"Hannibal," Will begins, and Hannibal looks up, finds Will's eyes on the steamer, still dark with thought. He worries his lower lip between his teeth, flashes his gaze up, then away again. Strangely furtive, searching for an answer Hannibal does not imagine is in the china cabinets, nor the oven door, nor the fridge.

"Yes, Will?" he asks, not pausing in his task of slicing the chilis into very thin strips. "What is it?"

"Have you -. I'm not asking from a position of jealousy, just curiosity." Hannibal looks up again, head tilted. "Do you always use terms of endearment with your partners?"

Hannibal's head tilts further. Will's eyes find his, and he blushes, looking down.

"Does it bother you?" he asks, for he's sure Will would have said something before now.

Will shakes his head, sighing, and rubs the back of his neck. He takes another long drink of wine, as though needing the fortification. "No," he replies, mumbles the word. "No, not at all. I like it. I just…wonder if you expect the same."

Hannibal huffs a laugh. The idea of Will calling him 'darling' is amusing. Occasionally, in a fit of passion, Will might use 'baby', but he much prefers Hannibal's name. He purrs it in a way others seldom have, and it feels richer for sitting on Will's tongue.

"There's an implied call and response for pet names," Will continues. He's skirting the edge of something, Hannibal can tell. It prickles between them like a net, like a coil of rope around a spring-loaded trap. If either of them step too soon, they will surely be captured and skinned.

"I intend no response when I call you 'darling', Will," Hannibal replies coolly, still smiling. He looks up, finds Will's teeth sunk to his lower lip, eyes averted. "It is simply habit. One I confess I use in abundance with you."

Will nods. "So," he begins, and sighs, and rolls his shoulders. He takes a drink of wine, killing his glass, and pours himself another.

"Will," Hannibal murmurs, concerned for Will's intake, as he's sure Will has eaten sparsely through the day. He normally does. Will's eyes flash to him, wide, nervous. "Please, I encourage you to speak freely. We're both adults here, and I sincerely hope there's nothing you feel you cannot share with me."

Will nods, once, sharply. He rolls his shoulders again, squares his jaw, and meets Hannibal's eyes.

"Sometimes you call me 'boy'," he says, sharply.

Hannibal blinks, flushing despite himself. He sets his knife down and resists the urge to touch his face. "I do," he replies, and looks back up to meet Will's fathomless, earnest gaze. "And this…bothers you?"

"No," Will says, quick, like the word escapes him before he can contain it. He shifts his weight, wordless and fidgety, and looks away. "No, but…. But it has implicit responses. A suggestion of youth, of innocence." He swallows, the bite on his throat flexing with the motion. "It just…makes me wonder, is all."

Hannibal presses his lips together, and turns to wash his hands of the chili's heat. He wipes his hands on a towel, and turns back to Will, finds that he hasn't moved. Not even an inch.

"And, if being called 'boy' doesn't bother you," Hannibal says, purposely slow, non-threatening, "what is your instinctive response?"

Will swallows, lets out a soft, inhuman sound. It's throaty, reedy, so quiet Hannibal could believe he imagined it. His knuckles go white around the stem of his glass, and his eyes seem focused laser-sharp on Hannibal's hands.

He licks his lips, cheeks a lovely, dark red, and whispers, "Daddy."

Heat strikes Hannibal sharply behind the eyes, so sudden that, for one brief and silly moment, he fears he may have missed a spot in cleaning his hands, and somehow wiped at his eyes. But he hasn't – this heat is all Will. All _for_ Will.

He can scarcely believe. Will is younger than him, of course, but not so young that he falls into the automatic roll of innocent, wide-eyed youth. He is a capable, powerful man in his own right, commands a room upon entering it, grabs and teases the attention of others with a simple smile, a sharp tongue.

And yet, here, in Hannibal's kitchen, he trembles.

He knows this particular deviance. Knows its well.

He approaches Will, forcing himself not to rush, not to crowd. He reaches out, peels Will's hand from his wine, and Will swallows, his eyes dark with shame, fingers trembling when they curl against Hannibal's palm.

"I don't -." Will stutters, stops, shivers when Hannibal kisses his knuckles. "I don't want to fuck my dad, or anything like that. It's just – you call me that, and I want to -. I want -."

Hannibal smiles, has mercy on him. He shushes Will, kissing gently at his jaw, and prowls to his back, his hands flattening warm and wide on Will's hips. Will trembles, leaning into him, head bowed forward to expose his neck.

"I understand, Will," Hannibal says, teeth to his lover's ear, grazing the skin beneath. Will whines, tensing. "Perhaps, if you'd like, we can play with that dynamic." Will's breath catches, and Hannibal, incensed, says; "When I'm deep inside you, marking you with my seed."

Will whimpers.

"With my teeth."

Will sags, clutching the edge of the countertop. The spice of his arousal is utterly distracting, brazen on Hannibal's tongue when he breathes Will in. He smiles, feeling feral, and kisses the nape of Will's neck.

"But first, my sweet, darling boy, we will eat."

Will nods, slowly, like he's drunk, like he's dazed. His face, when Hannibal pulls away from him, is lax with want, low-lidded eyes shining in the harsh kitchen light, pink mouth wet and open. Begging for something only Hannibal can give him.

Hannibal smiles, tucks his fingers under Will's chin, forces him to tilt it up. Bare his throat. Bare his teeth. Bare his desires.

Then, Hannibal raises an eyebrow, his smile gentle. He presses, _just_ a touch further;

"What do you say, darling?"

Will growls, fingers flexing on the counter. The low cut of his shirt can't hide the flush on his chest. His tight slacks highlight the bulge of his cock to an obscene degree. He _likes_ this, just as he's liked everything else, and Hannibal's fingers flatten on his jaw, brush down his neck.

Will's eyelids flutter, and he swallows. "Thank you, daddy," he whispers, flushed and trembling.

Hannibal smiles. "Good boy."

 

 

Their dinner bears the same dichotomy of time passing. Each second lingers, too scared to count to the next one, and yet Hannibal feels that he and Will eat with ravenous pace. They consume the spicy asparagus, devour the oysters. Even the chocolate torte Hannibal made is quickly swept into eager mouths, empty bellies.

Though Hannibal senses, it is not conventional hunger that drives them, now.

He offers Will sweet port as a nightcap, receives a humble nod of acceptance in answer. Hannibal smiles, retrieving glasses for them both, and they retire to the study.

Will appears jittery, on edge, more than just anticipation. Hannibal regards him coolly, takes a sip of port.

"Are you alright, Will?"

Will clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. He winces when he touches the bite mark. "I just…. You're not just doing this for me, are you?" he asks, raises his eyes to Hannibal's. In the soft light, his face is youthful with shadows, painting him as something otherworldly, ethereal. "If you're not into it, just say so."

Hannibal wants to laugh, the thought occurring to him for the first time, that just as he has been keeping a lid on his own desires, Will may have been reining his in just as fiercely. "I promise, Will, I have no problem communicating with my partners if something isn't working for me," he says. Will accepts that with a sharp nod, though his legs don't stop their anxious jogging. "And I expect the same of you."

Will's eyes flash, heavy, dark. His lip twitches at the corner.

"You said you didn't have anything else you were into," he says.

"I did," Hannibal concedes, and smiles. "So did you."

Will blushes, biting his lower lip, looking down. "Guess so," he replies, and takes another drink. Finishes it, and sets his glass to one side. He sighs, slides his hands down his thighs. "I feel like I'm going to burst."

Hannibal smiles, pleased at Will's eagerness. "Have you dabbled in this kind of play before?"

Will shakes his head. "Never been with an older…anyone," he replies. "And never been with a woman who was into calling me that. So." He shrugs.

Hannibal raises an eyebrow. "Are you interested in that?" he asks. The alcohol has made Will pliant, his eagerness makes him more communicative than normal. Hannibal would be foolish not to take advantage.

Will blinks at him, brow furrowed. He seems to consider it studiously, for a long moment, before he shakes his head.

"No," he murmurs, licks his lips.

Hannibal nods, sipping at his drink. "Just checking."

Will nods as well, and seems to settle when it appears Hannibal is not going to ravish him in his seat. He brings his hands together in his lap, fingers toying with each other. Hannibal doesn't offer him a second glass – Will's eyes are glazed with alcohol. It makes him brazen, just enough to lower his inhibitions, but Hannibal would do well not to lower them too far.

He will not force Will into something he ends up regretting.

The hour is late when Hannibal finishes his port and sets his glass to one side. Will's eyes flash, eager. His chin lifts in readiness, showing the dark mark on his throat. His chest heaves, shoulders straightening. Ready.

Hannibal smiles, and stands, holding his hand out to Will. Will takes it, and Hannibal pulls him in for a kiss. His hand goes to Will's hair, tightening, and Will gasps, moaning against his mouth, his hands finding their familiar place on Hannibal's chest, digging in.

Hannibal takes him to the bedroom, lets the darkness envelope them. He wants to ask to turn the lights on, but this is a new phase for Will, and Hannibal has other things he'd like to suggest, and knows it will be easier for Will to accept them in the dark.

His hands go to Will's slacks, tug through the belt loops, drawing Will against him so Will's erection ruts against his thigh. Will gasps, growls, presses his teeth to Hannibal's lower lip, his hands sliding around Hannibal's flanks, finding his hips.

He grinds forward, eager and sweet, panting already. The tang of salt in his sweat flavors his skin as Hannibal kisses his jaw, lower, to the place he marked with his teeth.

"Sweet boy," he purrs, noting how Will shivers. Hannibal smiles, and steers him to the bed, pushing him onto it when Will's calves hit the edge. Will sits, legs spread, head tilted up eagerly for Hannibal's kiss as Hannibal leans over him, one hand now in Will's hair, tight, tugging.

Will gasps. Hannibal feels the flutter of his lashes when he kisses Will's cheek.

"Bare yourself for me, darling," he orders, and lets Will go.

Will lets out a weak, ragged sound, and Hannibal hears clothes rustling. He circles the bed, retrieves the bottle of lubricant, and sheds his own clothes in a messy pile, leaving the bottle on the nightstand. He returns to Will, finds him bare and ready, arching up into Hannibal's hands as Hannibal lifts him onto the bed, prowls into place between his strong thighs. Will is warm, sweetly warm, tastes of port and wine and the saltiness of oysters.

Hannibal falls between his legs, takes Will by the hair and exposes his throat. He kisses him there, listens to Will's heavy breaths, the rough stutter of his heart. Then, he moves lower, kissing Will's chest. Will tenses, freezes, as Hannibal's teeth find his nipple.

"Hannibal," he whispers, unsure, hesitant. Perhaps fearing Hannibal intends to bite him here.

Hannibal lifts his head, soothes the furrow from Will's brow with another kiss. Tests; "That's not the game we're paying tonight, darling," he murmurs, feels how Will's stomach sinks in, his thighs tremble. His cock twitches, rearing up in a brief spasm to smear sticky-wet on Hannibal's stomach. "If I do something you don't like, simply tell me, but…" He trails off, kisses Will's cheek, his jaw, bites gently at his ear. "I want you to trust me. Let me take my time, and savor you."

Will's breath leaves him in a heavy, shuddering gust. His fingers curl in Hannibal's hair. Then, very slowly, he nods.

"Good boy," Hannibal purrs, kissing Will's jittery pulse. His hands flatten on Will's hips, spread wide as he moves down again. Will's breath hitches, and he whines when Hannibal wraps a hand around his cock, uses the smear of precum to ease the glide. "You make me so happy, darling. I'm so proud of you, how much faith you have in me, how much you trust me."

Will shivers, petting through Hannibal's hair with both hands. His hips rise, chasing the squeeze of Hannibal's hand, and this time, when Hannibal sucks Will's nipple between his lips, his chest expands in a heavy breath and he arches into the sensation.

"I trust you, daddy," he whispers, ragged, hoarse. "You always make me feel good."

Hannibal smiles, licking kitten-like over Will's nipple. His free hand comes up, rolls the other with gentle fingers until it hardens, peaks for him. Will is trembling, his hands tight in Hannibal's hair, his breathing heavy in the silent room. Oh, Hannibal would give anything to see his face, in this moment.

He strokes Will's cock slowly, matches the rhythm of his hand with the roll and curl of his tongue, sucks on Will's nipple until heat blooms there, and then catches it with his teeth, tugging gently. Will hitches up, legs spread wide around Hannibal's flanks, trembling and spurting another slick drop from the slit of his cock.

Hannibal growls, turns his attention to the other nipple, sucks it between his teeth with a loud, obscene, wet noise. Will lets out a high-pitched, desperate sob, hips twitching up to Hannibal's fist, then down, chasing a fullness that Hannibal isn't providing him.

Hannibal hums, flicking his tongue over Will's nipple again, just to hear him gasp and feel him tremble. Then, Will is moaning, and Hannibal imagines him with his head thrown back, wild hair a halo of darkness on the pillows. He licks at Will's chest, edges his teeth where the flesh is firm with muscle, and Will sobs with need.

"Please," he whispers. "Please, daddy. Bite me."

 _Oh, sweet boy_. Hannibal closes his eyes, turns his head and sucks Will's skin between his jaws, worrying the flesh with his teeth. Will's heart thrums against his tongue, racing, galloping. Will's cock twitches in his hand and Hannibal opens his eyes, releasing Will's skin as he feels Will jerking, panting, and then he's coming, his cock full and hard and his entire body rolling into Hannibal's fist as he spills thick and heavy over Hannibal's hand.

Will's free hand shoots down, wraps around Hannibal's fingers, forces him to keep stroking, keep touching him. Past the end, past pleasure, into pain. He whines and jerks with sensation, but doesn't let Hannibal release him, and Hannibal tilts his head, considering this.

Perhaps Will likes pain more than he's been letting on. Beyond simple acceptance.

Hannibal's mouth floods with saliva, eager to find out.

Then, Will goes limp, lets out a soft, shaken sigh. "Thank you, daddy," he breathes, and Hannibal's chest flushes hot.

He rears over Will, puts his dirty hand in Will's hair and hauls him up for a kiss. Will moans, shaking, and his thighs come up to bracket Hannibal's hips, heels digging into his back.

"I don't want to stop," he whispers, raw and ragged. "Please. _Please_."

Hannibal blinks, finds the shine of Will's eyes in the darkness. "We don't have to -."

But Will is already shaking his head, breath turning sharp in a brief flash of impatience. "I want you inside me," he says, nails dragging down Hannibal's flanks, so enticing, so sweet. His thighs tense around Hannibal, taunting, teasing. "I want it."

Hannibal leans down, kisses Will's panting mouth. "Of course, darling," he murmurs, for he could never refuse Will anything. His chastity, his modesty – even his lust, which calls out so desperately for Hannibal's own.

He pushes up, and reaches for the bottle of lubricant. Hesitates. "There is something I'd like you to do for me, Will," he says. Will's breath goes quiet, his hands flexing and steady on Hannibal's sides. "I'd like you on your hands and knees."

Will is quiet, and Hannibal fears, for a moment, he pushed too far. Then, he lets out a breath, and nods, pulling from Hannibal and settling on his stomach. Hannibal breathes out, reaches to map the planes of Will's back, the enticing dip of his spine. The divots there, at the base, where thumbs could so-easily sit. The arch of his hips, the swell of his ass and thighs. He's sure Will looks exquisite.

"Like this?" Will asks, the lust in his voice covering an innocence, an unsureness.

Hannibal breathes out, sets the bottle down and covers Will. Lets Will feel his strength, his weight – tests it, to make sure Will is okay with it. Will trembles below him, arching as though to feel more of it, ravenous and eager.

"Is this alright?" Hannibal asks.

Will nods, reaches back to pet through Hannibal's hair. "Yes, daddy," he whispers, sincere to the core.

Hannibal smiles, kisses Will's shoulder in both thanks and reward, and breathes in heavily the scent of Will's seed, spread there by his hand in Will's hair. "Good boy," he praises, rewarded again with a subtle arch of Will's spine.

He pulls back, wets his fingers with lubricant, and sets the bottle aside. "There are advantages to this position," he murmurs, slicking his fingers over Will's hole before pushing one inside. Will gasps, sinking to his chest, pushing his ass back, higher. Hannibal listens to the bed creak, accommodating them, listens to Will's fists knotting in the sheets and pillows. "Like this, I will be able to fuck you more deeply." He pauses, smiling as Will shivers. "Harder, as you like."

Will moans, the sound muffled like his face is pressed to the sheets.

Hannibal pushes his finger in deeply, curls it down, drags it back to hear Will moan. Feels him flinch, oversensitive, but Will doesn't retreat. Rather, he pushes back, demanding more. Hannibal's smile widens, feels feral and foreign on his own face.

He adds another finger, slides his other hand between Will's legs. His cock is dripping, heavy, half-hard again already. Surprising, but delightful. Hannibal tightens his hand around it, strokes down slow and easy, and Will flinches, whimpering, filling for him. His ass clenches down around Hannibal, and with two fingers deep in him, Hannibal finds Will's swollen prostate. He presses against it mercilessly, driving another needy set of whines from Will's chest.

Hannibal lowers his head, kisses the dip of Will's spine, licks the salt of his sweat from his flushed, warm skin. Will groans, lifting his head so the sound is not muffled, gasps and writhes in short, jerking motions between both of Hannibal's hands. Forward, to drive his cock through his fist, backwards, onto his fingers.

Hannibal considers him, for he knows it must hurt. Will is not a teenager anymore, and overstimulation is a real possibility. It must hurt – even as he tastes Will's sweat, he scents pain in him. Just as he did before. But Will is aching, suffocatingly tight.

Pain. Pleasure from pain?

Hannibal is salivating.

He drives his fingers in deep, adds a third, and Will tenses, twitches, lets out a ragged moan.

"Please," he whispers, and Hannibal closes his eyes, tilts his head and bites at the crease in his thigh just to hear him whimper, feel him shake. " _God,_ Hannibal – _fuck_." His shoulders roll, he's bearing down. Hannibal growls, drives his fingers to Will's prostate, presses, _presses_. "Fuck, you're gonna make me come."

"Do it, Will," Hannibal snarls, tightens and quickens his fist, keeps his fingers maddeningly firm inside Will. He licks over the bite he left, drags his nose up Will's warm flesh, finds his spine and nuzzles there. "Such a good boy, come on. Come for me."

Will locks up tight, his breath turning high, fast. He shudders, entire body rolling, bucking, and Hannibal grins wide as Will's ass clenches up around his fingers, his cock fills, swells, spurts. Hannibal's fingers are warmly coated with his seed a second time and he's purring, nuzzling the divots in Will's spine, stroking him slowly but still just as tight, eager to wring out every drop, every shudder, every pained gasp.

Will reaches back, digs nails into his forearm with a soft, desperate noise.

Hannibal releases him, after a moment, and pulls his fingers out. Will collapses to the bed, wrung out and shaking, and then he turns, rolls over and pulls Hannibal to him. His kiss is lax, fucked-out, lazy with the curl of his tongue and the press of his lips. Hannibal wants to devour him. His own arousal has steadily built, grown claws and fangs now, and prowls around his gut with golden eyes and bared teeth.

He spreads Will's legs, content to rut between his thighs before he finds his own release, but Will moans, raggedly, desperate, his teeth catching Hannibal's lower lip.

"Fuck me," he whispers. "Please."

"Will," Hannibal breathes, shakes his head. "You're undoubtedly sore."

Will hisses a breath, surges up. Hannibal's eyes widen as he finds himself on his back, Will straddling his hips, heavy and warm with his hands pressed to Hannibal's chest.

"I need you," he says, harshly, "to fuck me. Are you going to make me beg again?"

Hannibal is breathless, mute with wonder. His hands find Will's hips and Will rolls his body, sighing as Hannibal's cockhead presses against his slick hole. He drags his nails up Hannibal's chest, sets them on his shoulders, and moves until he can lower himself down. His body parts for Hannibal eagerly, lax from his orgasms, and Will lets out a plaintive, wanting sigh as he sinks down, taking Hannibal all in with one smooth motion.

"This is mine," he growls, and Hannibal doesn't know what feral, divine creature crawled into Will's chest tonight, but he likes it. A lot. He puts his hands on Will's hips, tightens them, tucks his feet so that he can move with Will as Will starts to roll and rock atop him.

Will shivers, hand dropping to his cock, his knuckles brushing heavy on Hannibal's stomach as he touches himself. Every time he does, his ass spasms up, aftershocks and overstimulation weakening his voice, turning his breathing heavy and harsh.

He surges up, rolls Will to his back. If Will wants to be fucked, to be mounted, Hannibal will give him that. Will sobs with it, lets Hannibal tuck his hands behind Will's knees, lets himself to folded. One hand is still on Hannibal's shoulder, tight, encouraging, the other touching his cock with punishing strokes.

Will rears up, catches Hannibal's mouth in a kiss, forces Hannibal to rear over him and cover him. Hannibal snarls, puts Will's thighs over his elbows, cups Will's back so that he can drive in with all his weight, all his strength. He's close, incensed by Will's eagerness, this new and daring display of want.

" _Yes_ ," Will growls, bares his teeth, tucks Hannibal's face to his neck. "You're mine," he whispers.

Hannibal nods, helpless.

"Say it."

"I'm yours, darling," Hannibal gasps. He thrusts deep, rolls his hips as Will's ass tightens for him, sensitive, sore, blister-hot. He surely won't walk straight tomorrow. "Just as you are mine."

Will hums, the sound little more than a purr. He nuzzles Hannibal's hair, drags his nails across Hannibal's spine. Then, his breathing turns weak, shuddering. His body clamps down and he moans, burying his face in Hannibal's neck.

"Please, daddy," he whispers, and Hannibal clenches his eyes tightly shut, gritting his teeth. "Bite me. Fuck me. I wanna be yours, wanna wear your marks inside and out."

" _God_ , Will." Hannibal can't take any more. He thrusts in deep, rakes his nails down Will's spine, and finds the edge of his previous bite where Will's blood pulses hot and fresh. He parts his jaws, sinks his teeth into the tender skin, and Will whimpers, going limp. His body spasms with another orgasm, though he does not spill this time. Still, he tugs on his cock, whining as Hannibal presses deep, his arousal uncoiling abruptly at the taste of Will's bruising flesh, the sound of his sweet whines, and he lets go of his control, rutting tight to Will's as he comes and fills his boy up.

He sighs, going lax over Will, and lets his legs fall loose around his hips. Will hisses, rolling his body to something more comfortable. When Hannibal is finished, he pulls out, giving a soft gasp of his own as his sensitive cockhead protests the introduction of cool air, not wanting to leave Will's blister-hot, eager body.

Will turns to him, purring, and Hannibal covers his lover tightly, too raw, too jittery to allow him space. He pulls the covers over them, cocooning himself and Will, and Will hums in pleasure, nuzzling Hannibal's collarbone.

Then, he laughs. "Well, that might be the best sex I've ever had in my life," he murmurs, already sounding sleepy.

Hannibal smiles, kissing his hair. He wraps his arms tight around Will, cataloguing the twitch of his muscles, the heat coming from his neck, his bitten chest, his sore thighs.

"If I'd known you had this possessive streak, I would have encouraged it sooner," he replies.

Will huffs, licking his lips, and kisses Hannibal's chest. "I'll remember that."

Hannibal hums, and kisses Will's hair again, sighing. His body is shaking with aftershocks, satisfaction blazing hotly in his chest – though it is a gentle heat, soothing instead of invigorating. Sleep is tugging at the edges of his consciousness, and he closes his eyes.

 

 

 

The next morning sees Will gone from his bed, a note on the bedside table telling Hannibal that he'd been summoned to Quantico for an early-morning briefing. Hannibal sighs, missing Will's presence immediately, but doesn't allow himself to linger on it for long.

As he wakes, that fire in his chest turns invigorating, revitalizing. He feels he has learned more about Will in the past forty-eight hours than in many months dating. This is, of course, not true, but the opportunity to learn about Will at all is something he adores, and eagerly feasts upon.

Will is much less vanilla than Hannibal supposed, or even expected. It fills his head with ideas, with possibilities. If Will is even _open_ to the idea of discussing things, then Hannibal's world is about to burst wide open, flowering like gardens in springtime.

He catalogues what he knows, from observation, that Will likes. From there, he can expand further into what might be safe to approach first.

He knows Will likes pain – that much is obvious. Though whether it is a simple, warped need to be touched, or a pride in bearing marks, or a simple cross-connection of the pain and pleasure centers in the brain, Hannibal is not yet sure.

Will is possessive. This ties into the idea of marks, though he seems less interested in placing them on Hannibal, as having them placed on him. This could be an accommodation, something he has no wish to indulge in himself, but satisfies his basic beast in knowing there is someone who covets him enough, desires him enough, to lay their claim in such a blatant way.

Will has a daddy kink. This is the most surprising so far, but Hannibal is pleased by it nonetheless. Will had been right – it assumes an innocence, a need for guidance, that Hannibal is more than happy to provide. He has, so far, been the sole source of advice and discovery in the world of gay sex. He will be the only one in the future, if he has his way.

It implies trust, which Hannibal knows Will holds for him in spades.

Will likes…overstimulation?

Perhaps that is part of the pain. Perhaps there is some other need there, going unanswered. Hannibal cannot be sure.

He _definitely_ likes Hannibal fucking him bare, coming inside him. Another facet of possessiveness, Hannibal thinks. Perhaps.

Those two things are the most ambiguous. Hannibal hums, lips pressed together, contemplating what could be used to explore them further, when his phone chimes. It's a text from Will, and Hannibal smiles, opening it.

There is a link, and a message.

"If you're intrigued, call me."

Hannibal raises an eyebrow, and clicks on the link. The second eyebrow joins the first. The link contains, as Hannibal scrolls through it, several items that fall under the large umbrella of chastity devices. Cock cages, cock rings, vibrators for prostate milking.

Brazen. If this is Will's sexual awakening, Hannibal is delighted and flattered to see it happen.

He tilts his head to one side, trying to figure out which branch of his discovery this lies within. Pain, perhaps – denial of the simplest of pleasures. Control. Dominance?

He calls Will.

Will picks up on the third ring. "Hi," he says, warm and pleased, like he didn't just send Hannibal a link to a dirty site.

"Good morning, Will," Hannibal murmurs. He can play along. "I trust you slept well?"

"Mm, like a baby," Will replies. Hannibal hears a door open, then close, and Will's voice gets lower; "Did you look at the link?"

"I did," Hannibal says. Will hums again, waiting. "I'm intrigued, but confused. Which of these would you want to use?"

He can hear Will smile. "All of them, eventually," he says. "But the cage, and the ring, first."

"You want me to use these on you?" Hannibal asks.

Will laughs, the sound warm, like Hannibal is oblivious. "No, baby," he whispers, achingly soft and sweet. He purrs, and prowls, and Hannibal's gut clenches. "You would wear them. One, while you're fucking me. The other, when you're not."

It's obvious which is which. Hannibal considers this, still very much intrigued – more by the motivation than the act itself. He doesn't need chastity devices. Since dating Will, he has felt no need to touch himself, finding the other man eager and willing to submit to his lust when it rises. The ring, too, he doesn't understand the need for. If last night proved anything, it's that he is perfectly capable of fucking Will through multiple orgasms.

He purses his lips, deliberating. Will is patient, and quiet save for his breathing.

"I'd like to understand why," he says.

Will laughs, like he expected this. "Of course," he replies, still so sweet. "But I can't get into that now. I fear I'd make a mess of myself, and I don't have a spare change of clothes." He pauses, lets Hannibal absorb that. Hannibal's fingers curl, clench. "Shall I come over tonight?"

"I think I must insist," Hannibal replies, breathless.

Will hums, smile heavy in his voice. "Alright. I'll come by as soon as I'm done here. No later than six."

"Good," Hannibal growls, stomach heavy with anticipation. "I'll see you soon, darling."

 

 

Time rushes by, eager as Hannibal is to see Will in his home again. Will arrives just shy of five, no warning, no need for welcome. He's dressed in a sweater, high-collared to hide his bite marks, and jeans. He sheds his boots and the sweater and throws it over the bannister, cavalier and brazen, and Hannibal smiles, and takes Will in his arms, pressing him to the wall and kissing him breathlessly.

Will's eyes are bright, soft with adoration. He licks his lips after Hannibal's kiss, touches them, tilts his head up to ask silently for another. Hannibal obliges, drinking in Will's gentle, sweet moan, leans into the soft caress on his cheek.

Then, they pull back, and Will laughs.

"Would you like something to drink?" Hannibal asks, pleased to see Will in a good humor.

Will nods, and follows Hannibal to the kitchen. There is a decanter of red wine and two glasses, and Hannibal pours them one each, and hands Will his. Their fingers brush, electric and warm, and Will shivers, taking a sip, his eyes never leaving Hannibal's.

His mouth parts from the rim with a gasp, innards of his lips tainted red. He licks them, and laughs again.

"I've been so blind," he murmurs.

Hannibal tilts his head.

"When I met you, you seemed so… _refined_. So put together, the perfect gentleman." He huffs. "Should have known better. It's always the quiet ones that are the wildest."

"The same could be said of you," Hannibal replies mildly, smiling. "You are, still, not quite predictable. I admire that."

Will rolls his bright eyes, takes another sip of wine.

"I didn't want to pressure you," Hannibal adds in the wake of his silence. "There are…desires I have, that most people don't share. It is not a judgement, on myself or anyone else, simply a fact. And I adore you, Will, I'll state that plainly. If there was anything I liked, that you didn't, that you felt pressured into doing, I could never forgive myself."

Will nods, his cheeks colored pink at Hannibal's honest declaration. "I know you panicked," he murmurs. "When you bit me. I wanted to soothe you, to tell you it was alright, that I liked it, at the time. But…I couldn't, because it was new to me, too. At least, the pain thing was."

His eyes flash, dip away.

"But not this," Hannibal finishes for him, smiling. "The chastity devices."

Will swallows, his cheeks darkening.

Hannibal goes to him, takes Will's free hand in his own, thumb brushing over his knuckles.

"Will you explain it to me?" he asks.

Will nods, swallowing, looking towards the study. Hannibal follows his silent cue, as he always has, and leads the way. They take seats opposite each other, on twin couches, so that they might observe, absorb, and react as equals. Open and honest with each other.

Will sighs, runs a hand through his hair, slouches down, knees spreading. It's an assured posture, though it draws Hannibal's attention to his thighs, to the bulge between them.

Hannibal tilts his head when Will is silent. "You like pain," he says, and Will's eyes flash to him, widen. He blinks, and nods. "Is this a spring-off of that?"

Will works his jaw to one side, gives a soft hum. "Kind of," he replies. His cheeks are very red, now, almost as red as the wine. The low light colors him golden, soft, so beautiful. He clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair again. "It's more about…control."

"You crave control?" Hannibal asks, tilting his head.

Will shakes his head, squares his jaw. "The opposite," he replies. Hannibal sits forward, wants Will to see that he is attentive, that he is open and listening. Will sighs. "You're the first man I've ever been with," he begins, and Hannibal nods. He knows that. "But, even before that, I guess you could say I had a…thing. About being fucked. Put away wet."

Hannibal's shoulders roll, a fissure of arousal running down his spine at the coarse language.

"But it doesn't feel like enough," Will whispers. "I want to be _full_. I want to be soaked, dripping. I -." He swallows, presses his thighs together, rolls his hips to tease his cock against the tightness of his jeans. His eyes fix upon Hannibal's, dark, settled. Assured.

Hannibal smiles.

"Please," he murmurs. "Continue."

"But I'm selfish, too, Hannibal," Will says, sitting up straighter, spreading his knees again. "And I think you like that. You like me weak, sobbing, overwhelmed." Hannibal nods, for he cannot deny there is a delicious sweetness in Will's sweat, in his tears. "So, I want to put you in the ring, so I can use you for myself. And then I want to deny you, keep you in a cage for days, so that when you finally do fill me…"

He stutters, stalls, his bitten throat flexing as he swallows. The flush has spread down his neck, alcohol and long-held shame making him red, making him pink.

It's an intriguing prospect, and one Hannibal does not deny makes him terribly curious. He tilts his head, sits back, and takes a sip of wine. Their gazes don't break – it feels challenging, the wolf in Will's head with hackles raised, ready to snarl, ready to lunge.

It feels like the first time they met, but in the way the same beat of a song conjures memory. This has a melody all its own, and it is deep and rich, drawing, alluring. Hannibal feels coaxed, pulled in on the tides to Will's hook.

"How long would you propose to deny me for?" he murmurs.

Will's jaw flexes, bulges at the corner. His fingers curl, white-knuckled on the couch and around his wine glass stem.

"Three days," he replies. "At first."

At first.

"But you would use me significantly more often, I imagine."

Will nods.

Hannibal hums, considering.

"The prostate massager is for longer time periods," Will adds. "If we get to that."

 _If_. Hannibal raises an eyebrow, amused at the choice of words. It's said with accommodation, yet feels like a challenge.

 _If you can handle it_ , not _If you want it._

"You are a delightfully deviant creature, aren't you, Will?" he asks.

Will swallows, averts his gaze.

"I wonder how long you would have kept this to yourself," Hannibal adds. "If I had not broken first."

Will breathes out, flexes his fingers. "I can be restrained, if I have to be," he replies. "It's a little more than biting or daddy kink, after all."

Hannibal nods with a conceding sound. Will's eyes return to his, dark and narrowed. Like he expects Hannibal to laugh him off. He's defensive, coiled tight as a spring, a rubber band ready to snap.

"And what would my obedience earn me, my darling boy?" Hannibal purrs.

Will blinks, swallowing, lips parting in shock. He trembles, in his thighs, in his hands, shifts his weight to hide the sudden swell of arousal between his legs. It's a lovely display, enticing. Hannibal's mouth waters.

"Whatever you wanted," Will replies, breathing the words, and Hannibal hears in them sincerity, earnestness. An eagerness to please. Will's control is given and received in equal measure, attained and released. Will runs a trembling hand through his hair, breathing out heavily. "Fuck, Hannibal, I'd do whatever you wanted, if you gave me that."

"There are a lot of things I want, Will," Hannibal replies. Will's chin lifts, he licks his lips.

"Such as?"

"Oh, too many things to name right now," Hannibal says, smiling when Will's eyes flash in challenge.

" _Such as_?" he asks again, velvet-steel, deadly-soft.

Hannibal's smile widens. "No more darkness," he replies. Will blinks, head tilting. "I want to watch you. I want to see you, when you're weak for me. When you cry. I want to know what you look like when I touch you, when I fuck you."

Will shivers, biting his lower lip.

He nods, once, slowly.

Hannibal sets his wine to one side, standing. Will follows suit, and meets Hannibal for a desperate kiss. Hannibal puts his hands in Will's hair, tugs his head back and Will goes, gasping, his pupils completely overtaking his iris, his pulse rushing sweet and warm in his neck.

Hannibal kisses him again, drinks in the sound of his weak, desperate moan. "Buy the cage you like, darling," he murmurs. "But I already have a ring we can use." Will blinks, glazed, slow, like he's just woken up from a fever dream. He burns warm in Hannibal's arms, arching, aching.

Hannibal smiles, and kisses him once more.

"You –. You want to do it now?" Will asks, shocked, words barely a breath.

Hannibal nods, and takes Will's hands. "I want to see your selfishness," he replies. "And earn my reward, in turn."

Will nods, breathes out, squeezes his fingers tight between Hannibal's.

"Careful what you wish for," he says, laughing.

Hannibal grins, wide and eager. "Oh darling, I think, between the two of us, we will see many wishes come true."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want more? Appetite whetted? Message me/let me know and I might be persuaded (will easily be persuaded) to write more things. Love y'all. Hugs & kisses to those who want that, fistbumps and suave headnods to those who don't. <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW, guys, I am absolutely /overwhelmed/ by the response to this story! I never imagined it would get so much attention and love! Thank you to everyone who commented, left kudos, reblogged it, screamed about it to their friends. You are all the real MVPs and I adore each and every one of you.
> 
> I don't have words, so I offer you this second chapter in lieu of them. This one got a little feelsy, but there's plenty of kinky shit too, and a potential setup for a part three if y'all are so inclined ;D The tags have been updated, so please check them before diving in!
> 
> This was another 5 hour blitz, it's like 3am for me but I'm less exhausted than I was before. Enjoy!

Hannibal takes Will to his bedroom, a fierce shot of pride igniting in his chest when, after a moment, he turns the light on. Will blinks, shivering, as the bedroom light floods his pupils, makes them shine. He's ocean-dark, heavy, tides and currents pulling Hannibal to him as they embrace, and kiss. Will burns for him, fever-warm and still so sweet. When Hannibal kisses him, he whines, nips gently at Hannibal's lower lip.

He is brazen, bolder now with this newfound truth and opportunity between them. He tugs at Hannibal's clothes, pulls them both towards the bed. When their lungs burn, he kisses instead at Hannibal's jaw, his neck, the slip of flesh above his collar.

Hannibal shivers, growling, and takes Will's hair in one hand, tugs him up. Will's eyes flash, widen, his pink mouth parted in a slight gasp.

Hannibal smiles, leans in, brushes his nose against Will's. "Do you like having your hair pulled?"

Will swallows, nods weakly. This, Hannibal suspected, for he's pulled on Will's hair before, but never severely, never for instruction or direction. It might be new for Will, something no other lover has done to him.

Though, considering the wild, alluring tangle it always is, Hannibal finds that hard to believe.

Will's hands flatten on Hannibal's chest and he breathes in deeply. "Where's the ring?" he asks.

Hannibal's smile widens, and he lets go of Will. "Sit," he murmurs, and Will drops to the end of the bed obediently. His hands flatten, spread out on either side of his thighs, as he looks to the bedspread, takes in the swath of teal and blue, the dark wood of the frame. It is, Hannibal thinks, the first time Will has actually seen his room at nighttime.

Hannibal bends down, kisses him, and then withdraws. In the top drawer of his bedside table is the lubricant, which he takes out and sets atop it. The bottom drawer has…less savory things. Things he will not show Will for some time, if at all. But amongst them sits a cockring. It's black, made of silicone, and can stretch to accommodate several girth sizes. He takes it out, and slides the drawer closed.

He turns to find Will watching him, considering, rapt. Hannibal returns to him, finds Will's knees spread in eager welcome, and allows Will to look.

Will huffs a laugh, taking it, testing the stretch. "This will do, for now," he murmurs, and lifts his eyes to gift Hannibal with one of his wolfish, off-kilter smiles. Hannibal wants to ask, wants to know what detail is lacking, that it cannot service once Will has a cage as well, but he doesn't. For the first time, his curiosity has ebbed, replaced instead with the fervent anticipation of a surprise. He has no idea what it will feel like, to be caged like that, teased like this, and in the wake of his inexperience, eagerness rises.

Hannibal bows down, kisses Will again, takes his jaws in his hands and dips his fingers to the rushing beat of Will's heart. Will sighs into the kiss, fingers curling on the loose dangle of Hannibal's shirt, tugging him closer.

Hannibal goes, pushing Will back onto the bed, covering his sweet lover with his weight. He can see Will, now, and admires the pretty flush on his cheeks, the slight laxness of his jaw when he kisses, swallows, kisses again. The brilliant darkness in his eyes. Will is beautiful, supremely so, and Hannibal is grateful for the opportunity to gaze upon him like this.

Will trembles for him, as he always does, and allows Hannibal to sit him up, pulling off his shirt to bare his chest. There is a bruise from Hannibal's teeth, above his nipple, and Hannibal growls when he sees it, bowing his head to kiss over the blush-warm, sensitive skin. Will shivers, cups his fingers through Hannibal's hair, tugging him closer like he wants Hannibal to nurse at his flesh.

Will sighs again, purring as Hannibal's hands flatten on his thighs, spread him out for Hannibal's weight. He prowls forward, pushes Will onto his back on the bed again, fists a hand in his hair and kisses him deeply. Will still holds the cockring, clutches it with white knuckles, and Hannibal pulls back to meet his eyes.

"Would you like to place it on me, darling?" he asks.

Will's breath hitches, his glacial eyes fierce and wide. He licks his lips, and nods, and Hannibal smiles at him, and pushes himself off the bed to undress. Will strips down as well, until they're both naked, clothes a twin messy pile at the end of the bed. Hannibal remains standing as Will goes to him, sits on the end.

He's half-hard, just at the sight of Will, and Will looks up at him, coy and sly all at once. He brings his hand to his mouth, wets his palm, and wraps his fingers around Hannibal's cock, sliding down half-way. Hannibal shivers, fingers flexing. He wants to grab Will, wants to use his mouth until Hannibal is hard, wants to feel the clench of his throat on the inside when Hannibal fucks deep and makes him choke.

He resists. One thing at a time.

Will hums, eyes dropping to Hannibal's hand like he knows what Hannibal is thinking. Perhaps he does – his sweet, keen-sighted Will sees everything. Notices everything, catalogues and adapts. Will leans in, licks once, kittenish, over the slit of Hannibal's cock. His breath is warm, the tease of his tongue maddening, and Hannibal sucks in a breath, filling more in Will's hand as he drags his wet palm down, lower, cups Hannibal's balls and tugs on them _oh so gently_.

Hannibal breathes out, shivering. "Will," he murmurs.

Will hums, takes one of Hannibal's hands in his own, the ring curling between their fingers, and he places Hannibal's hand in his hair. His lashes flutter when Hannibal's hand tightens, knots in his mess of curls.

He turns his head, kisses feather-light and open-mouthed on the side of Hannibal's cock, bringing his fingers back up. "You want my mouth, daddy?" he asks, sweet and soft.

Hannibal's breath catches as he meets Will's eyes, sees something dark there, something prowling. "Yes, sweet boy," he replies, and huffs a laugh when Will kisses his own knuckles, robbing Hannibal of his warmth. "Though I think it would simply torture us both."

Will hums, smiling, and licks gently at the bulging head of Hannibal's cock again. This is another thing they have not done often – Hannibal feared Will would find it too base, too disrespectful. There is such a bad reputation around the practice of oral sex, framed as though it cannot be pleasurable for both parties at once. If Will holds a mindset similar to that, Hannibal would be glad to persuade him otherwise.

Hannibal tugs gently at his hair again, watches Will's eyes flash, close to half-mast, his lips part around a shuddering inhale. "Come, darling," he murmurs. "I don't want to keep you waiting."

Will laughs. "So impatient," he whispers, and Hannibal wants to argue, but he cannot. Will makes him impatient, makes him rude, and brutish – and now that Hannibal knows he can be, at least a little, he is rabid for it. Wants Will's neck in his teeth and his tears on his tongue, wants to hear Will beg, and moan, and feel how he shakes as Hannibal brings him pleasure again and again.

Will relents after another gentle lick, and stands, and Hannibal steps back to give him room. Will takes him by the back of the neck, lifts himself and arches for a kiss. His own arousal presses, hard and hot, against Hannibal's thigh, and Hannibal growls, clutching at his hips. An image fills his head, of Will kneeling at his feet, his hair in Hannibal's hands, mouth full of his cock and rutting his own clothed erection against Hannibal's leg like a dumb beast. He wonders if he could get Will to do that. Wonders if, when he did, he'd wear the ring, and tell Will he couldn't come until Hannibal did. If his boy would weep, and sob and sag, desperate for him.

Will pulls away, leading him towards the bedside table where the lubricant is. He takes the bottle, uncaps it, and wets his fingers.

His eyes meet Hannibal's, considering, and then flash to the bed. Hannibal follows his gaze, takes Will's clean hand, and sits.

Will's expression softens in a smile, full of adoration and appreciation. Hannibal has never gotten to see him like this, see how he softens and smiles and how his eyes burn when they meet Hannibal's. In the light, everything is exposed. Will cannot hide from him.

Just as he cannot hide from Will.

Will climbs onto the bed, kneels behind him, puts his chin on Hannibal's shoulder, lips to his neck. He reaches in front of Hannibal and curls his wet hand around Hannibal's cock, stroking once, tightly.

Will sighs as Hannibal growls, clutches at Will's knees where they frame and bracket his hips. Will smiles, makes a soft noise of pleasure as he strokes Hannibal, his other hand cupping Hannibal's heart, measuring the beat of it.

"I never thought I'd be able to do this with anyone," he whispers, confession-quiet to Hannibal's neck. Close as he is, his exhale makes Hannibal shiver, makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. There is a predator at his throat, even one as sweet and wanting as Will, and it makes his gut clench, sink in as Will twists his hand.

Will presses closer, his erection slipping hotly in the dip of Hannibal's spine. Will shivers, tightening his hand at the friction, the nails of his other hand digging in, raising sharp, stinging points of pain on Hannibal's flushed chest.

Hannibal turns his head, seeking Will's mouth, cups his face when Will kisses him, eager and wanting. Hannibal is fully hard, now, leaking at the tip of his cock, and Will pulls away with a gasp, eyes bright. He wraps his fingers in the ring and presses further, leans over Hannibal, and Hannibal drops his head, watches as Will pulls at it, stretches it, and rolls it slowly down his slick cock.

It settles at the base of his cock, the restriction already making him ache. Will's hands are gentle, burning, as they pull at the bottom of the ring and coax Hannibal's balls through it, first one, then the other, until it sits tightly behind them. Hannibal's fingers flex, clench. He knows he will not come while it's on, and the freedom of sensation makes him twitch and judder finely. His stomach aches with impatience, like a starving man presented a feast and told he cannot eat until the master does.

Will breathes out, hands shaking. "Beautiful," he purrs, and kisses Hannibal's neck again. His hands flatten, one slick, the other dry, on Hannibal's hips, curl and dig, pulling him back to Will's chest. "I can't wait to get you inside me. I want it rough."

Hannibal's breath catches, and Will smiles, nuzzling his throat. "I'll let you come tonight," he whispers. "But you have to earn it."

Hannibal turns, growling. He grabs Will, pushes him onto the bed and prowls between his thighs, kissing him passionately as Will smiles, purring beneath him. Will arches, chest up, hips rising, thighs and hands caging him in, and Hannibal wants nothing more than to sink into Will right away, ruin him from the inside out.

He tucks his nose to Will's jaw, forces his head to one side and puts his teeth to Will's ear. "I want to watch you," he snarls, noting with pleasure as Will's breath hitches, his stomach sinks in. "Get yourself ready for me, darling. Get as stretched as you need, for I won't be gentle."

He doesn't think he could be, even if Will wanted it. This is a strange, new dynamic, dominant yet restrained, wild yet chained up. Hannibal rears back, takes in Will's flushed cheeks, his neck, the bites on his throat standing out starkly in a blotch of yellows and greens. Fading now.

Hannibal smiles, and reaches for the bottle of lubricant. He hands it to Will, who takes it, squirting another thick dollop onto his fingers before he hands it back. By the time Hannibal has placed the bottle on the bedside table, and settled in to watch between Will's thighs, Will has one hand around his cock, the other dipped between his legs, teasing.

Hannibal's upper lip curls, outrage mild and yet eager spurning the backs of his eyes as he watches Will. Watches Will take his time – apparently his lover is more than happy to tease himself, when he will not allow Hannibal the pleasure.

In the light, Hannibal expected Will to be shy, to be coy, to affect the mannerisms of someone embarrassed by being seen. But he finds it is the opposite – Will meets his eyes brazenly, holds him like an animal staring him down. His lashes flutter, lips parting, as Hannibal settles his hands on Will's thighs, forcing them wider apart to bare his slick hole.

Will whines, shows his teeth, and curls one finger to dip into himself. One knuckle, just one. Hannibal's mouth waters, his teeth itch. He meets Will's eyes, finds them dark and heavy-lidded, as Will's hand twists on his cock, and he arches with a guttural sound, blinking slowly as his finger sinks in further.

Hannibal growls. He knows what this is – forced patience, delayed gratification. He has to let go of Will with one hand, wraps his fingers around his own cock for some semblance of relief. But none comes – each fissure and spike of pleasure is cruelly reined, beaten back, for he cannot find release with the tight silicone wrapped around him.

Will raises one eyebrow, his smile quirking, momentarily, into a smirk.

"Impatient," he purrs.

"You make me this way," Hannibal replies, honestly. Sweat is beading below his hairline, making his hair fall forward into his eyes. The small of his back feels slick, Will's precum and his own sweat heating his flesh there. The backs of his knees, the space between his thighs. It all aches. It all aches for Will.

"Can you last three days, I wonder?" Will murmurs, his expression going momentarily slack as he forces another finger into his body. He whines, jaw clenching, stubbornness to keep Hannibal's eyes and pleasure warring in his chest. He wants to throw his head back, Hannibal can see it in the way his neck flexes and the way he trembles.

Hannibal smiles, flexing his free hand on Will's thigh. "Can you?" he replies, challenging. Will's eyes open, flutter, dark over his red cheeks. "Look at you, already close just from putting this restraint on me." Will's breath catches, cock twitching in his white-knuckled grip. Hannibal's smile widens, half-feral. "Maybe I should buy you a toy, so you can be full when I'm not around."

Will's eyes flash, and his jaw flexes. But not with pleasure. "No," he hisses, tight with strain. "I don't want anything inside me that isn't you."

Hannibal tilts his head to one side, considering that. He smooths his hand down Will's thigh. "Of course, darling," he murmurs, easing the tension from Will's brow as he leans over him, kisses him chastely. If Will doesn't want that, Hannibal doesn't either. His desires, in this moment, are perfectly matched to Will's; "Plastic and latex can't do what daddy can, can they?"

Will's exhale is heavy, weak. "No," he replies sweetly, tilts his mouth up for another kiss that Hannibal eagerly grants him, hand slick from his cock sliding into Will's hair, dirtying him up. "No, daddy, they can't."

Hannibal smiles, rewards his sweet boy with another kiss. "Is that why you're going so slowly?" he murmurs, and the way Will's throat flexes, the way his eyes dart away, close, gives him his answer. "Don't even like touching yourself anymore, do you?"

Will swallows, shakes his head just an inch.

It's a powerful, heady feeling, Will's admission. Settles the nails and iron in Hannibal's shoulders, gentles his teeth as he kisses Will's flushed neck.

"You can stop, sweet boy," he murmurs. Will whimpers, pulling his fingers out and clutching instead at Hannibal's shoulder. "If you don't like it, you don't have to do it. I mean that."

"I know," Will murmurs, kissing Hannibal desperately. He breathes out, settles, though his thigh is shaking under Hannibal's hand. He lets go of his cock, cups Hannibal's neck and shivers. "I just – fuck. I really want you to fuck me."

Hannibal smiles, tucks his nose to Will's jaw, tastes the sweet blush of arousal and need in his sweat. "Do you need me to open you up some more?"

Will nods. "Can we -? I want to be on my hands and knees again," he says.

Hannibal growls, entire body rolling at the sound of Will asking for that. He rears back, takes Will by the hips and rolls him, tugs him into place. Will falls into the position easily, easy as memory, the curve of his spine and the sweet offering of his stretched hole momentarily stunning Hannibal to stillness. His hands flatten on Will's ass, spread him apart.

Hannibal breathes out, slowly, and lifts to put his knees outside of Will's forcing his thighs together. He takes his cock, strokes once, and pushes them between the thick muscle, growling at the tease of friction, of pressure. Will gasps, tenses and tightens his thighs, letting Hannibal fuck between them.

Turns his head, shows Hannibal the pretty flush on his cheek, the wideness of his dark eyes. Hannibal smiles, lowers his mouth to the smooth plane of Will's back, and curls two of his fingers, still slick with lubricant. He drags them up Will's perineum, pushes at his rim, shudders when Will accepts him graciously. He clamps down, burning-hot, rabid, and Hannibal bares his teeth, rests his forehead against Will's spine, and pushes in deeply.

Will whimpers, so sweet, so eager, his chest flat to the sheets. Hannibal can feel the heavy hang of his cock when he fucks forward, drags his cockhead under Will's balls, just touching the base of him. Will reaches back with one hand, fists his cock, uses the precum leaking from Hannibal to ease the way.

It's maddening, for Hannibal is sure that if he didn't have the ring on, he would have finished already. Will calls to him as no one else has, the siren song of his body lulling Hannibal's eager ear to drown within him. He wants to consume Will, devour him in his entirety.

Will sighs, shivers, winces when Hannibal touches his prostate. Hannibal lets out a low, visceral sound, pressing there again, measuring each twitch and judder of Will's hips, the flex of his thighs, as he drags his fingers inside of Will, coaxes, circles the tips of them, presses again until Will whimpers.

"Please," he whispers, so quiet Hannibal almost doesn't hear him. Hannibal lifts his head, kisses Will's flexing shoulder blade, open-mouthed. "Please. Make me come."

Hannibal closes his eyes, shuddering at the sweet plea. He reaches around Will's hip, wraps his fingers between Will's around his cock, twisting his wrist at the head, pressing his fingers deep, and leans his weight on Will. So he cannot retreat, cannot push and pull back. He contemplates, briefly, making Will wait, making Will want, but that's not the game this time. This is all about making Will weak, until he cannot stand, cannot speak. Until he is nothing more than a warm body and eager, tight hole to use and fill.

 _That_ thought strikes him suddenly, hot as a brand, and Hannibal stutters, snarling, and parts his jaws, sinking his teeth into Will's jutting shoulder blade.

Will goes still, abruptly, a high-pitched whine stuck behind his teeth as he tenses, trembles. His cock thickens, and his stomach sinks in, sinks up, and he comes with a harsh moan against his own knuckles, still stroking because Hannibal's hand doesn't let his move away. Hannibal growls, tugs at him, presses on his prostate, drinks in Will's eager, sweet moans, measures the flex and twitch of his muscles, the pounding of his heart under Hannibal's teeth. The way his cock keeps going, spilling thick and wet, until Will's cries turn to whimpers, his breathing turns to sobs.

Hannibal lets him go, presses his hands to Will's flanks as he trembles and whines. He leans over his lover, kissing Will's sweat-damp hair, nuzzling the red nape of his neck. Will bares it for him, fists finding the sheets below the pillows and clenching tightly. His shoulders tense, his hips settle, ready to bear the brunt of Hannibal's thrusts.

But Hannibal has other ideas. If Will wants to tease him, wants to make him wait, Hannibal can be just as cruel;

"Darling," he murmurs, noting how Will's breath catches, his ribs heave. He turns his head, meets Hannibal's eyes, his lips slack and parted, showing his tongue. "There's something I'd like to try, if you're agreeable."

Will blinks, brow furrowing, expression clearing from the effects of his orgasm. He clears his throat, lashes fluttering as Hannibal kisses the bite he left on Will's shoulder.

"What is it?" he asks.

He asks it openly, trusting because he has no reason not to trust Hannibal, eager and lax in the wake of his pleasure. Hannibal bites his lower lip, nuzzles Will's hair, and slowly drags one hand up Will's flank. He wraps it below Will's arm, flattens his hand over Will's collarbones.

Then, listening to the hitch in Will's breath, he presses his fingers gently across Will's throat. Does not tighten, does not bear down. Just waits, listening to the slight hitch in Will's exhale, the trembling beat of his heart, the sudden quickdraw of air.

And, very subtly, feels the way Will's hips lift, and his neck lowers, easing into the pressure.

"Just a little," Hannibal says, both soothing and warning. Choking is a complex exercise, easy to do wrong, and if Will is willing, Hannibal doesn't want to make the experience bad for him. Dimly, he realizes he shouldn't be asking Will this at all, at this moment. Talks about things like this should be done fully-clothed, with no expectation and nothing in their blood making them think rashly, impulsively.

Will swallows, and Hannibal resists the urge to tighten his hand. Then, slowly, Will flattens his fingers over Hannibal's knuckles. It's his dirty hand, slick with his seed, and he swallows again as though testing the feeling of it.

"Is this a control thing?" he asks.

Hannibal smiles. "It's more a sensation thing," he replies. "When robbed of oxygen, the brain experiences euphoria in new ways."

Will's fingers flex, nails dragging along Hannibal's knuckles. Hannibal is still, quiet, resting without pressing against Will's back.

Then, Will turns his head. His cheek touches Hannibal's hair, and Hannibal unfurls, and Will twists, so that their lips meet. The flex of his throat is delightful, soft flesh and stubbled skin. As well, the raw, simmering heat of bite marks still healing.

"What do I do if I need you to stop?" Will asks when they part.

Hannibal smiles. "Simply say so, darling."

Will licks his lips, presses them together. "And if I can't talk?"

"Then pull my hand away. I won't be angry. I won't stop, if you don't want me to. But if you need it, I will." Will seems to consider this. He's not hesitant, merely curious – in the same way, Hannibal senses, he was curious about Will's desire for chastity. Seeking to understand.

Then, Will nods, and kisses him again. "Alright," he breathes, ragged against Hannibal's lips.

Hannibal smiles, overwhelmed with joy and gratitude that, despite Hannibal's tactless nature of asking, Will is accepting of this new desire. He keeps his touch light on Will's neck, for now, and rears up, putting his other hand on his cock and pulling it back from between Will's thighs.

Will sighs, settles back into position, his free hand still white-knuckled in the sheets, the other touching Hannibal's wrist gently, ready to grab.

"Are you ready for me, darling?" Hannibal asks.

Will nods, breathless now, though Hannibal has done nothing to make him so. Perhaps he is simply affected, his wild imagination running rampant at the idea of being so close to getting what he wants. Just as Hannibal is affected, whenever he is with Will.

Hannibal growls, fists his cock, and guides it to Will's slick, stretched hole. Will's body has been given enough time to relax, to ease the edge of overstimulated pain, and Hannibal clenches his jaw, pushes in until his cockhead breaches the first ring of muscle. He sinks in one inch, then two.

Will trembles, whining softly. Even though Hannibal cannot see his eyes, he knows they're wild, dark with accusation, with outrage.

Testing, so gently, Hannibal tugs on Will's neck. Brings him to his hands. Will throws his head back, gasping, and Hannibal smiles, remains upright, and uses his grip on Will's throat to pull his lover back, hips rolling to accommodate the best angle as Will slowly, oh so slowly, takes him all the way in.

Will chokes, breath catching, and rears up with him, settling against Hannibal's thighs with one hand digging into Hannibal's hip, the other still clutching his wrist. Not pulling, not pulling away. He is a graceful arch, like this, a monument of trembling stone and broken glass. Hannibal growls, wrapping his free hand around Will's stomach, flattening over the bulge of his cock. Will whimpers, flinching back against him, but starts to stiffen, growing hard again in Hannibal's hand.

Hannibal smiles, kisses his lover's flushed cheek, and starts to roll his hips. His thighs ache with it, and his stomach feels it might burst from need, but Will's body drags him in, drags him down. He is shaking as hard as Will, knowing he won't come until Will says he can, knowing that Will intends to use him – and yet, in his control, lets himself be used, a slave to each other's tides. He settles down, thrusts back up, piercing Will's body as deep as he can.

"You're beautiful like this, Will," he murmurs. Will's eyes are closed, the blush on his cheeks spreading down beneath Hannibal's hand, coloring his collarbones, branding his chest. Hannibal flexes his hand, just to hear Will gasp, watch his lips part and his eyes flare open, trembling. He whimpers, turns his head to Hannibal's cheek, seeks his warmth and his weight. He's heavy against Hannibal, sagging, shaking. Hannibal squeezes his neck again, delighted when Will's cock twitches, fills to another round of aching, blushing hardness.

Hannibal's smile widens. He closes his eyes, drinking in the sound of Will's soft gasps whenever he bottoms out, the sweet, barely-there moan of protest when he rolls back. "My sweet, beautiful boy," he purrs, and Will's stomach heaves, clenches up. Will's nails flex, dig into his hip. The pain of it sweeps into him, into his chest, into his cock, and he wants more than anything to throw Will down and mount him brutally until they're both shaking with satisfaction.

But he won't. Cruelty begets cruelty. Will wants it rough, but he will earn it.

"You make me very happy. You know that, don't you?"

"Mm, _Hannibal_ ," Will breathes in answer, sliding his hand from Hannibal's wrist to the backs of his knuckles. He presses down, and Hannibal answers him, puts pressure on Will's neck until he goes still, until he chokes, his eyes wide and staring without focus, his cock twitching and leaking into Hannibal's hand. "Fuck, _please_."

Hannibal nuzzles under his ear, bares his teeth. "What do you need, darling?"

"I don't _know_ ," Will replies, ragged, raw. His eyes are bright, welling with reflexive tears as Hannibal robs him of air. A second longer, and he releases Will, allows him one single, deep breath, and does it again. Every time he does it, Will's cock twitches, thick and heavy in his hand. Hannibal strokes him, fucks him, chokes him, until Will is whimpering, something urgent and soft. "Fuck, it hurts."

Hannibal goes still, just for a moment. But he knows Will, knows his cues and complaints. It's a hurt, but a good hurt. Will likes it.

He squeezes Will's throat again.

Growls.

"I know what you need."

He pulls out of Will, viscerally pleased at the raw, angry sound Will lets out. Then, he takes Will, both hands at his shoulders, and pushes him down onto his back. Will gasps, his neck pink with an imprint of Hannibal's hand. He tilts his head back, lets Hannibal fit his fingers there. Spreads his legs, lets Hannibal settle between them.

Reaches, clawing, impatient. Hannibal growls, leans down for a kiss, and drinks the high, sated moan Will lets out as he pushes back inside.

He's brutal, fast – rough, just as his sweet boy needs it. Desire claws at his spine – or perhaps that is just Will's nails, savage as they are. It burns his lips, or perhaps that's Will's teeth instead. But it builds, oh it builds, festers, burns hot behind his eyes.

He clenches his hand around Will's neck, forces his head to one side, and bites his shoulder. Will goes tense, still, sobs with pleasure as Hannibal touches his cock, wrings each shudder and jerk from him. Will spills, weakly, and when Hannibal purrs, nuzzling his cheek, he tastes tears.

"Don't stop," Will begs, nails in Hannibal's lower back, legs wrapped around him, voice hoarse. Hannibal releases his throat and Will gasps, arches, pulls Hannibal in with what feels like every sore muscle, every spasm. "Don't you dare stop."

"Never," Hannibal snarls, shoving deep into Will's body as he clenches, weak with relief, with pain. Hannibal kisses his cheek, licks him clean, wraps his hand through Will's hair and clutches him close, covers him, fucks in, _in_ -.

 _Fuck_ , he wants to come. Pleasure pools in his gut, chases his spine like a cat with a mouse, urges him rougher, faster, harder, he wants to spear Will, wants to fill him. Wants to see him tremble and sigh with relief.

He goes still, unable to bear it. His hips twitch and his shoulders roll, his orgasm pulled back by its teeth, by the silicone wrapped around his cock. But it's a haze, something red and throbbing, demanding that if he move just a little, just a little deeper, he can do it. But he can't – his brain and his body are in open conflict, and he snarls his frustration against Will's hair, wraps his other arm around Will's shoulders.

Will clings to him, trembling finely, an unmoored ship covered in the crashing waves of Hannibal's impotent desire. Hannibal feels, distantly, kisses to his chest, gentle hands on his back, the sweet clench of Will's thighs and ass around his oversensitive flesh.

He snarls, and pulls out, breathless. Will is gasping, his eyes glazed, ocean-deep navy, swallowed by black. The flush on his cheeks, the pink marks and dark bruises from bites on his throat, demand Hannibal's satisfaction. Demand his teeth, his tongue to return to them. Command he rip Will apart at the core, seek heat and friction and he _wants_ -.

"Hannibal."

Will reaches for him, and Hannibal flinches. He's too raw, too bare, to weather Will's touch. But touch he does, smoothing one warm palm through Hannibal's sweaty hair, down his neck. Leans in, lips gentle on Hannibal's cheek. Hannibal's upper lip twitches when Will's other hand touches his cock.

"It's okay," Will murmurs, soothing, soft. "It's okay, baby. You did such a good job. I'm gonna take this off now."

Hannibal blinks, registers the words absently. His spine clenches, hips rolling into Will's fist. His cock is very dark, almost purple with denial, and he growls again.

Will smiles at him, kisses him chastely. "Lay on your back."

Hannibal obeys, hindbrain telling him that obedience earns reward. He settles on the bed and Will straddles his thighs, both hands on Hannibal's cock now, stroking gently. They do not urge, but soothe, calluses from his gun catching on Hannibal's shaft, the thick vein, the dark head. Hannibal reaches for him, mute.

Will smiles, tilts his head to put his cheek to Hannibal's palm, kisses the meat of his thumb. "Just relax," he says, coaxing. His nails dig under the ring, cup Hannibal's heavy balls and tug, easing him back from the edge.

Hannibal's breathing is heavy, unsteady, and he can't look at Will as he gently coaxes the ring over Hannibal's balls. It's tight, suffocatingly tight, and urges him to roll his hips, to chase release as Will manages to get it over, rolls the ring up Hannibal's shaft, and off, setting it to one side.

Will sighs, leans down and cups his face. Hannibal's eyes open, find Will's dark and soft with adoration. He smiles, off-kilter, cheeks dimpling, and slides forward on Hannibal's lap, until Hannibal's cockhead brushes his sore hole.

"Will," Hannibal breathes, hands flying to Will's hips. Stalling him. "Will, I -."

"I know," Will replies, and he does. Knows it will hurt. Knows it will not last long. Hannibal's arousal curls, impatient and huffing, low in his gut. Will takes one of his hands, presses it to his cheek again kisses his palm and then slides it to rest on his neck.

Hannibal squeezes immediately, wanting to hurt. Not to harm, but to ache. Will's eyelids flutter, his face going lax, and he reaches back, gently touches Hannibal's cock, lifts up and sinks down onto him.

He moans, and Hannibal snarls, showing his teeth when Will's eyes fly open. He gasps, shuddering, bright-eyed with lingering tears, and rolls his hips. Does all the work, coaxing Hannibal back to the edge, the brink.

It starts in Hannibal's hands. They squeeze, Will's neck, his thigh, dig in with nails too-savage and rough. But Will moans for it, begs for it, with his soft hands and sweet noises, with the tantalizing clench of his ass, the achingly gentle way his body rolls, accepts, gives heat and tightness and promises a sweet haven for Hannibal to plant himself.

Hannibal pushes himself upright, releasing Will's neck, and Will kisses him, clings to him, trembling as Hannibal grabs his hips, pushes him down, deep as he can go. He stills, tense as iron, and groans as he starts to come inside Will. It's a burst damn, restraint and release flooding out of him and it seems to last long, too long, too sore, too much – _Will_ -.

"That's it," Will growls, kisses Hannibal, accepts teeth in his lower lip, on his jaw, on his neck. Will folds his fingers through Hannibal's hair, breathes deeply, bares his heart and his throat to Hannibal as Hannibal jerks, shudders, floods him with his seed.

The aftershocks linger, spark behind Hannibal's eyes, through his sated body. He pulls back from Will's flesh with another deep, sated rumble, licking his lips, tasting sweat, tears, _Will_ on them. He's weak, lax to the bone, and Will shifts his weight, rises off of him. Immediately, a slick trail spills from him, staining their thighs, and Will shivers, and when Hannibal meets his eyes, he sees a visceral satisfaction in Will.

He smiles, drawing his lover closer, and rolls them so they're resting on their sides, panting, riding the high.

Will huffs, brushing Hannibal's hair back from his face. "Intense?" he asks.

Hannibal nods. "I was…unprepared for how it would feel," he admits.

Will blinks, brow furrowing with concern. "We don't have to do it again," he murmurs.

Hannibal shakes his head. "With practice, and repetition, I'll get used to it," he replies, smiling and brushing his knuckles across Will's cheek. "I enjoyed it immensely."

Will flushes, smiling sheepishly. Hannibal's eyes drop to his neck, and he runs his fingers over the subtle off-color pink of his handprint.

"And this?" he asks.

Will nods. "I liked it," he says. "You were right – it made everything so much more intense. I don't think I've ever come that hard before." He shivers, sliding closer into Hannibal's arms. "And knowing you had to hold back, knowing I was gonna get what I want. _Fuck_."

Hannibal huffs a laugh, nuzzling Will's messy, sweaty hair. His hand slides down Will's heaving flank, measures the slowing of his heart, the steadiness as it returns to his breathing. He pulls Will close to him, until Will's cheek is pillowed on his shoulder and he can press a gentle kiss to Will's forehead.

Then, Will laughs. "I don't know if it was heat of the moment, or what, but I want to make something clear." Hannibal raises his eyebrows, draws back to see Will's face. "I seriously don't want you getting anything for me to play with. No plugs, no dildos. I meant what I said – if it's not you, I don't want it."

Hannibal smiles, supremely gladdened by that. "I promise, darling," he replies softly, petting Will's hair back from his neck. "And I'll admit, though I offered, I find the idea…uncomfortable."

Will hums, lashes lowered.

"I should be the only one taking care of you."

Will shivers, but he's smiling. He touches his neck, over the bite marks, the bruising. Hannibal joins him in touching, thumb dragging gently over the edges of them.

Will sighs. "I already know what cage I want to get you," he says. Hannibal blinks, smiling. "I've had it picked out for ages."

Hannibal huffs. "Even without a man to use it on?"

Will nods. "I have…a lot of fantasies, Hannibal," he says, lifting his eyes to meet Hannibal's. He grins, boyish, charming. "The product of a very active imagination."

"Perhaps you will share them with me, then," Hannibal replies, purring. "I would love to indulge them."

Will eyes flash, and though his smile doesn't fade, it lessens as he considers. His eyes rake over Hannibal's face, and he tilts his head. A new blush colors his cheeks, and he bites his lower lip, turning his face into Hannibal's shoulder, hiding it.

"Later," he sighs. "I'm tired."

Hannibal smiles, and kisses his temple. He rises from the bed, grinning at Will's protesting whine, and goes to the light, turning it off.

He returns to Will's open arms, and slides into place beside him, pulling the covers over them both to trap their heat. "Sleep, Will," he murmurs, and holds Will close.

Will yawns, the sound strangely endearing. He nuzzles closer, slings his arm over Hannibal's chest, and sighs. They're both asleep within minutes.

 

 

The next morning, they rise together, shower quickly with lingering, platonic touches. Will is smiling, sweet and eager as always, and Hannibal leaves him to redress, before he goes downstairs to prepare breakfast.

There's a missed call on his phone from Alana. Head tilted, Hannibal calls her back, sets her on speaker while he prepares coffee.

"Hannibal!" she greets, and Hannibal can hear her smiling. "Morning!"

"Good morning, Alana," Hannibal replies. He catches movement in the threshold, sees Will standing there, disheveled but clean. He smiles, and gestures for Will to come to him, kisses him on the cheek and Will smiles, settles at his side, waiting for coffee. He looks to Hannibal's phone. "I'm sorry I missed you, earlier. What can I do for you?"

He doesn't miss how Will keeps shifting his weight, sore, fingers running absently over his bared throat. Eyes, heavy-lidded, slack with satisfaction.

"Well, a patient of mine made a breakthrough, and he wanted to thank me by giving me a weekend at his cabin," she says. "Of course, I can't take him up on the offer, but I figured, if it's going to be empty, maybe you and Will could use it?"

Hannibal blinks at her, sighing inwardly. Why patients insist on throwing gifts at their psychiatrists, he will never know. Surely the exorbitant fees are enough to dissuade such familiarity.

But he looks to Will, sees Will's smile wide, calculating, showing his teeth.

Will meets his eyes, and raises a brow. Challenging.

"Which weekend?" Hannibal asks, not taking his eyes from the prowling hunger in Will's. They are dark, unfathomably so.

"The one after this," Alana replies. "Just thought of you guys, thought it'd be a nice time. Take it or leave it. I'll text you the address."

"Thank you," Hannibal says.

"And you owe me dinner!" she declares. "I never got a proper 'thank you' for setting you guys up. I'm practically your matchmaker. So, you know, whenever suits." She's still grinning, and Hannibal huffs a laugh.

Will slides closer, sets his chin on Hannibal's shoulder, and whispers to him; "She's not wrong, you know."

Hannibal rolls his eyes, good-naturedly. "Thank you, Alana, I will be sure to extend an invitation as soon as I am able," he says. Truthfully, he would much rather spend every evening with Will, but that is selfish, both for himself and for demanding Will's attention all the time. And Alana is a beloved friend and trusted colleague.

She hums. "Well, I won't keep you. Have a good day!" And she hangs up. Hannibal huffs a laugh, turning his attention to the coffee machine.

Will hums, silent for a moment. Then; "I think we should go."

Hannibal turns to him, blinking in surprise. "Oh?" he asks, and isn't sure why he hesitates. A trip away together is the next natural stage of a relationship, and he would delight in having forty-eight hours with naught but Will for company, and nothing calling either of them away.

Will nods, smiling. There's something calculating still lingering on his face, some absent consideration that Hannibal doesn't know the origin of, the meaning behind. He touches his neck again and looks to Hannibal.

Hannibal smiles, a flicker of understanding building in his chest. "Is this one of those fantasies you talked about?"

Will flushes, looking down, demure. "There are certain things that I think could benefit from…a change in scenery," he says. Hannibal raises his eyebrows. "Things that require privacy. Remoteness. Something where the lines will not blur."

"The lines?" Hannibal repeats.

Will nods. "Let's…consider, for a moment…" He pauses, and waves a hand. "Name some kink or perversion you have absolutely no interest in."

Hannibal tilts his head. Then, "Infantilism," he says.

Will huffs a laugh, looking pleased, but surprised. "Really?" he asks, though whether he's surprised at the choice, or something else, is unclear.

Hannibal nods. "I find no attraction to the idea of a child-like mindset," he replies mildly. "Though I don't judge those who do." Will smiles, like Hannibal has said something incredibly endearing.

"Even though I call you 'daddy'?"

Hannibal smiles, tamping down the soft flicker of arousal. "That's different," he says, and he knows Will understands that. "That type of play focuses on the idea of trust, of guidance. Of innocence. Not, as people might think, of youth."

Will nods, accepting that. "Alright, well, that works well for my example," he murmurs, clearing his throat. Hannibal turns away from him, focusing on pouring them both mugs of coffee. He hands Will his, and Will hums, letting the warm liquid soak into his hands. He takes a sip, and continues; "That kind of mindset requires limits. Thresholds. One cannot walk around the world as a child all the time, even in a committed twenty-four-hour relationship. There must be boundaries." He looks to Hannibal, meaningfully. "A place where that mindset ends, and the person can take back over."

Hannibal nods, considering this.

"Everything we've done together, I've enjoyed," Will continues. "But there is no particular, overwhelming mindset to them. I can call you 'Hannibal' and 'daddy' in the same sentence, and we adjust and mold to it easily. But…there are other things that I don't want to bring here." He takes another drink. "Things I don't want to blur."

"Please, Will, have mercy on my nerves," Hannibal teases, smiling when Will flushes. He steps closer, settles a gentle hand across Will's back. "Will you tell me?"

Will clears his throat, his blush darkening. His hands shake, and he sets his mug down, sucking in a breath.

"You remember that time I took you fishing?" he asks. Hannibal tilts his head, and nods. "You remember those hunters we came across? They were…obnoxious, they were tracking a deer and being way too loud, I remember us laughing about it. And I've been hunting before. It's…almost meditative, but in a different way than fishing is."

His eyes dart to Hannibal's. He swallows. "I think you'd be much better suited for it."

Hannibal blinks, frowning in confusion. "You want me to hunt something with you?"

"No," Will replies. He's so deeply red now. Hannibal cannot imagine what it is Will is trying to get at.

He swallows, rubs the back of his neck, rolls his shoulders in a way so nervous that Hannibal finds his hand sliding up, settling at Will's nape. Will relaxes, as he always does, touch-starved and soothed under Hannibal's touch.

"Not _with_ me," Will says, softly. "I want you to _hunt_ …me."

Hannibal's eyes widen, his breath leaves him in a quiet gasp. Will flinches like the sound is a gunshot, shoulders curling up. He wants to retreat, Hannibal can see it, see the feral caged-animal wildness in his eyes.

He tightens his hand, forces Will to keep his head down. Will submits to it with a whine, fingers curling on the countertop.

Hannibal sets his coffee down, slowly prowls to Will's back. Takes Will by the hips, holds him, sets his teeth to Will's nape.

Sighs. "I don't want to harm you, Will," he murmurs.

Will shakes his head. "Not with real weapons, or anything like that," Will replies quickly. "Just…just let me run. Give me a head start. I'll teach you how to track, if you need it." Hannibal's fingers flex, he resists the urge to inform Will that, yes, Hannibal has hunted. Back in his youth. He was very good at it. "Then chase me."

Unbidden, Hannibal lets out a soft, rumbling growl. Will shivers at the sound of it, hips jerking backwards, pressing into Hannibal's weight. He tilts his head back, to the side, letting Hannibal have access to the side of his neck.

Hannibal smiles, kisses his flushed skin. "What a fine prize you'd make," he purrs. Will shivers, lips twitching, showing his teeth. "My pretty, wild animal. I wonder what you'd do, when I caught you." He kisses Will again, drags his nose to the corner of Will's jaw. "Would you fight me?"

Will whimpers.

"Would you struggle?"

"Yes," Will breathes.

"Mm, because you know I can overpower you, is that it, darling?" Will is trembling in earnest now, his breathing unsteady, lashes low, lips parted. Hannibal releases one hip, slides his hand up to cover Will's throat, pull him tighter against Hannibal's chest.

He waits, for a beat, then two, and then he releases Will, takes his coffee mug in hand and drinks from it. Will's shoulders roll, eyes glazed and glassy, and he looks to Hannibal, lovely mouth slack, cheeks ruddy with arousal.

"There are some things that we should settle on, if we were to do that," Hannibal tells him. Will licks his lips, nodding. Hannibal smiles. "We will do so over breakfast. When you're less riled up."

Will ducks his head, sheepish, but he nods again. Rolls his shoulders again, and takes another drink of coffee. His hands shake, knuckles white, but he drinks and it seems to calm him, brings back some focus to his eyes and a steadiness to his breathing.

Hannibal smiles. "I shall make us something to eat, then," he says, turning away. "Go, sit. Relax. I'll be with you shortly."

He doesn't see Will nod, but Will goes, quiet as a hunting cat. The room grows colder for his absence.

 

 

Hannibal makes bacon, sunny side up eggs, and shredded potatoes for them both. He carries the plates inside, his coffee in his other hand, and sets his mug down, then the plates. He retrieves forks from the kitchen and returns to Will, finds him idly studying a notebook at his side. It is filled with Will's messy scrawl – notes for his class, or field observations. Either Will tells him about it, or he can't. Hannibal doesn't press.

Will smiles at him, relaxed and fine, and takes another sip of coffee, before he straightens and begins to eat. Hannibal follows suit, the silence between them comfortable and still, filled only with the occasional sounds of swallowing, of clinking forks to plates, of the soft 'thud' of mugs being set down after taking a drink.

Finally, Will clears his throat, food mostly gone. He smiles at Hannibal again, head tilted. Waiting.

Hannibal sits back, pulls the mug of coffee to his stomach. Lets it settle and warm his hands.

He looks up, considering.

"How will this work, if I am caged?" he asks.

Will blinks at him, grinning wide and off-kilter. "You wouldn't be," he replies. "Not for this."

Hannibal nods. "I imagine this fantasy of yours has…rules," he says, though he finds that's not quite the right word. "Am I to simply chase you down, or will I be allowed weapons?"

Will blinks, a soft crease forming between his brows. "What, like a gun?"

"Nothing as violent as that. I was, however, considering the possibility of a knife. If only to ensure good behavior."

Will presses his lips together, eyes darting away. His knuckles drum on the table as he considers.

"Do you want to cut me?" His voice holds no inflection, no judgement, nor fear.

Hannibal's stomach tenses. He wants to say 'No'. Wants to lie. "Only if, in turn, you want to be cut," he replies instead. "But I was merely considering it as a…threat. I don't wish to harm you, Will, or threaten you in any real way." He takes a sip of coffee. "I just wish to understand."

Will nods. "You could have a knife," he says. "But no cutting. No blood."

Hannibal accepts this, smiling.

"We'd need a word, a signal, if something went too far."

Will nods, licks his lips, flushes delicately. "Animals don't talk," he says, eyes darting Hannibal's way, to his gaze, locking, then down again. Such a picture of sweet submission. "So, if I talk, the game is over."

Hannibal accepts that with a smile. "And you wish to only experience this in a remote place, far from what either of us knows," he says.

Will's jaw flexes, and his fingers curl. "I'm not an animal, Hannibal," he says quietly. "I don't want to be treated like one in your home." His eyes flash to Hannibal's, lock, hold. "I'm your partner, your equal, aren't I?"

"Of course you are."

Will nods, once. Sharply. Hannibal tilts his head, smiling, and thinks of Jack Crawford.

"A leash you allow to be placed over your own neck feels different than the one forced upon you, doesn't it?"

Will swallows, looks away again. Blushes. "Freakin' psychiatrists," he mutters.

Hannibal laughs. "I seek only to understand you, Will. For it is only through true understanding, and awareness of all the facets of those we love, that each of our potential can be seen, and realized."

Will's gaze snaps to him, eyes wide and brilliantly bright, sky-blue. Hannibal blinks at him, surprised at the reaction.

"Do -?" Will stops, swallows. He looks down, fingers flexing. He swallows tightly, looks up again. But it's like he can't hold Hannibal's eyes, can only barely bring them in the vague direction of his mouth. He swallows again, and when he speaks, it's so achingly sweet, so unsure, that Hannibal's heart stills;

"You love me?"

 _Oh_.

Hannibal sets his mug down, sits forward. Does not rise – he doesn't want to crowd Will. He gazes at Will, the uncertain dip in his brow, the way his shoulders are already rolling up, prepared to shield his neck, to shrug it off. The way his fingers curl, nails digging into the wood.

He has always tried to be patient, to be cautious with Will, too fearful of scaring him away. With his desires. With his love.

This is not a time for caution.

"With everything I am," he replies, honestly, and it is honest. Will's breath catches, and when he raises his eyes again, they're wet. Hannibal, in an effort to spare his nerves, smiles, and adds in a tease; "I thought I was being rather obvious. Perhaps I'm too subtle for my own good."

It works. Will laughs, breathless and meek. He wipes at his face and grins, widely.

"Oh my God," he says, his shoulder sagging abruptly, with relief, with adoration. "You're gonna give me a fucking heart attack one day." Hannibal blinks, head tilted, smiling when Will takes his hand. "Conversation swinging between Goddamn _primal_ play and declarations of love…" He trails off, shakes his head.

Hannibal huffs. "You'll have to forgive an old man his whims," he says lightly.

"You're not that old," Will replies, playful, light. Then, he sobers, and fixes Hannibal with his lovely, glacial eyes again. "You know I do too, right?" he murmurs. "Love you?"

Hannibal smiles, warmth in his chest abruptly catching air, creating a roaring fire. "I had my suspicions," he says, because if he doesn't tease, he will surely rise to his feet, now, sweep Will up into his arms, and neither of them will be useful to anyone but each other for the rest of the day.

Will grins, pink cheeks dimpled and bulging. He squeezes Hannibal's hand. "Asshole," he murmurs, in the same way Beverly might playfully call Will one. It's warm with affection, and Hannibal smiles. He brings Will's knuckles to his lips, kisses them, and rises to his feet to clear their plates.

 

 

The cage arrives a few days later. Will is practically vibrating with energy when he shows up at Hannibal's house, kicking off his shoes and shrugging off his coat with the same cavalier comfort he always has. Hannibal lifts his head, sees Will's shadow, and calls him to the study.

He smiles at his lover, reaching up when Will bows over the back of the couch to kiss him, cupping Hannibal's face as he does.

"It's here," he breathes, bright-eyed, wild. He could have sprinted here from Wolf Trap, for how disheveled and out of breath he looks.

They haven't been able to spend time with each other since the morning Hannibal told Will he loved him. Engagements kept them apart – a conference Will attended with Jack, and a dinner party Hannibal hosted that he would never had dreamed of subjecting Will to, then one of Will's dogs got sick and he'd spent the night at his home. Hannibal would have joined him, but he had an early appointment the next day, and therefore forced himself to spend yet another night in his too-wide bed, his too-cool room.

But he smiles, incensed by Will's eagerness. Will tugs him upright, clutching the small brown box in his other hand, and pulls Hannibal up the stairs, towards the bedroom.

"Strip," Will says, the order sharp and rushed. Hannibal raises an eyebrow, but does as he's told. His tie, first, then his vest. His belt, which he rolls with aching slowness and sets to one side. He sits on the edge of the bed, unlaces his shoes, slides them off, balls up his socks to set within them.

Will is a mess of energy, pacing like a caged wildling, watching Hannibal with ravenous eyes. Then, sensing that Hannibal will not be rushed, he huffs, turns away, and opens the box.

Hannibal stands, unbuttoning his shirt, and comes to Will's shoulder. The box is inlaid with soft, black silk. It shines in the low light. Hannibal shrugs his shirt off, folds it and places it atop his vest, and Will pulls the fabric back, revealing a red silk bag with a drawstring, pulled tight.

Hannibal undoes his suit pants, button and zip, slides the fabric down, and folds those as well. Finally, his underwear, which receives the same treatment, until his clothes are a neat stack on one of the chairs that form a miniature study area at the foot of his bed.

Will turns to him, bright and beaming. His eyes darken as he takes in Hannibal's undressed state, raking him up and down like nails might, like teeth might. He bites his lower lip.

Looks to the bed. Nods. "Sit," he murmurs.

Hannibal smiles, and goes, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Will shivers, lips parting and wet. He's holding the red bag, which looks far larger than it did sitting in the box. In his hand, just visible, is a small keychain, with two padlocks hooked onto the teeth of each little, golden key.

Will meets his eyes, and then slides to his knees between Hannibal's legs.

"I hate that it came tonight," he breathes, and rests his cheek on Hannibal's knee, free hand running up and down the outside of Hannibal's calf. He digs his nails into the muscle, squeezes. "I think you've awoken some addiction in me. I can't bring myself even close to how good you make me feel, just by touching me."

Hannibal smiles, reaching forward and curling his hand in Will's messy hair. Will shivers, lashes fluttering, his throat – not bruised, not anymore, since Hannibal has had no opportunity to renew his marks – flexing as he swallows.

He bows forward, tilts Will's head up and kisses him. "Let me see it," he murmurs.

Will's eyes are dark, almost all black now, and he shivers and nods, sitting back on his heels and setting the keychain down. He pulls the drawstring loose and sets it in his palm, sliding it back and tossing it away to reveal the cage.

It is…quite lovely, Hannibal will admit. Smaller than he'd anticipated – it will cover his cock when flaccid, but leave almost no room for him to thicken, or fill. There sits two rings at the base of it, stainless steel, Hannibal thinks, and they are joined by two pieces of metal, one at the top and one at the bottom. Through the bottom one there is a hook where one padlock can go.

The cage itself is not so much a cage, as a series of coils that follow the vague shape, and end in a little circle just wide enough to allow a finger, for cleaning. There is a second piece of metal at the bottom of the second ring, with a hole for the second padlock.

Hannibal takes it, head tilted curiously. He carefully pulls the pieces apart, finds that the first and second ring, when not locked together, can be separated completely, so that the first ring can stay on a body. A cock ring.

He finds Will's eyes, sees them shining with eagerness.

"Do you want to try it on?" he asks.

Hannibal nods, and hands it back to him. Will's hands are shaking, he licks his lips and carefully pulls the first ring free. It opens up like two halves of a shell, and his fingers are warm and gentle. Hannibal's thighs spread, giving him room, and Will carefully loops the ring underneath his balls, behind them, as the silicone ring did. He fastens the two halves at the top, then grabs the first padlock, threading it through the hole and clicking it into place.

Hannibal's breath catches at the sound, his cock twitching, remembering the feeling of such restraint, the absolutely overwhelming release that followed. The taste of Will's tears. The sounds of his moans.

The ring sits tight, not punishingly so, but enough that Hannibal knows, were he fucking Will, coming would be difficult. Perhaps not impossible – they shall have to practice with it.

Will's fingers cradle the rest of the cage, and he looks up, meets Hannibal's eyes. Falls to his knees in a position of total worship, soft with adoration. Hannibal smiles at him, and Will returns it, blushing cheeks dimpling in a smile as he leans in and kisses chastely at Hannibal's thigh.

Hannibal shivers, pressing his lips together.

Will's dark eyes fall, and he swallows, and lifts Hannibal's cock, threading it through the coil of the cage. The metal is chill, though he knows Will's touch has warmed the outside, and Hannibal grunts in discomfort, earning a soft sigh and a kiss to his flesh, through the metal. Then, Will slides it into place and fits the second padlock through. Hannibal's balls are somewhat pinched, but before he can voice his concern, Will cups them, kneads gently and pulls so that it's no longer uncomfortable. The pressure there is foreign, interesting.

Then, Will smiles, breathless and wanton, and all notion of discomfort fades away.

"Beautiful," he breathes again, just like he did the first time, and he lifts his eyes, holds Hannibal's gaze as he leans in and kisses Hannibal's cock through the cage. His tongue curls around the metal and Hannibal growls, jaw clenching as arousal makes him want to harden. Wants to, but doesn't. His cock twitches and presses against the innards of the cage, unable to fill.

Will cups it, tests the weight of it, the give. He hums. "It feels so heavy," he murmurs, like this feeling has gotten him drunk, high. It is a kind of high, Hannibal knows, to wield such power over a man, to have control given and accepted with grace.

He tugs on Will's hair, pulls Will to his feet, and stands. He leans in, somewhat off-balance, but hides it by drawing Will to his chest and kissing him deeply.

Will moans, arching to him, the press of the cage jutting awkwardly between their thighs. Will pulls back, laughing, sheepish, and rubs his hand over his neck.

"Damn, I just wanna take it off you now."

Hannibal smiles, purring. He touches Will's cheek, gently, and kisses him again.

"No, my love," he says. Will's breath catches at the new pet name. "You demanded of me three days, and that is what we shall do." Will's eyes go glassy and he nods, overwhelmed as Hannibal's cool command settles over his shoulders.

Hannibal smiles, slides closer, fits his hands on Will's shoulders and drags them down Will's arms, cups Will's wrists and kisses Will's slack, pink mouth. "Don't worry, darling. I'll see you satisfied."

"How?" Will whispers, weak. Soft.

Hannibal's smile widens, and he takes his leave of Will, returning to his pile of clothes. He doesn't bother with anything more than his suit pants and shirt, and even leaves that hanging open. Will swallows, like he's salivating, when Hannibal straightens and regards him again.

He holds a hand out, and Will takes it, trusting, sweet.

He smiles.

"Come with me."

 

 

He leads Will down to the study, shaking his head when Will goes towards one of the couches. He leads Will, instead, in front of the fire. The fire is gas, and lights after a few clicks, a _whoosh_ of air, filling the room with golden light. Hannibal turns off the overhead lights, and gestures for Will to sit in front of the fire, where there is some space.

He sits behind Will, and wraps his arms around his lover's chest, pulling Will against him. The cage presses against Will's lower back and Will shivers, lips parting at the hard reminder of what he's done, of his control over Hannibal's pleasure – evidence of how much Hannibal loves him.

Hannibal smiles, puts his mouth to Will's neck, and cradles Will between his thighs, Will's back to his chest, their eyes on the fire.

He slides one hand down, dips it slightly under the waistband of Will's jeans. Will's stomach sinks in, hips lifting in encouragement, but Hannibal smiles, and bites at his neck with a growl; a warning.

"Patience, Will," he murmurs.

Will whines, but doesn't move.

Hannibal's other hand slides up his chest, to his neck, flattens there and spreads wide. Will tilts his head back, hair tickling Hannibal's neck, head heavy on his shoulder. He breathes out, biting his lower lip, and relaxes against Hannibal.

Hannibal smiles. He closes his eyes, sighs. Lets the warmth of the fire brush over the backs of his hands, flushes his face. Lets himself feel the steady, hammering pulse of Will's heart, the slightly shaky draw of his breath. Lets his lover's weight, his strength, the broadness of his back, his shoulders, the smoothness of his belly, the press of his thighs soak into Hannibal's every sense. Let's Will's scent, minty-sweet and flavored mildly from the outside air, fill his lungs.

"Close your eyes, Will," he murmurs.

Will swallows, the movement like an earthquake beneath Hannibal's hand. His pulse quickens, his hands find Hannibal's thighs and curl around the outside of them, resting there.

Hannibal shushes him, smiling against his neck. "Breathe, darling," he coaxes, keeps his voice low and steady. Brushes his thumb, feather-light, but not to tickle, under Will's sharp jaw. Will sucks in a breath, slow, releases it as his stomach tenses. "That's good. Very good. Another." Will obeys, and Hannibal feels him relax, sag, heavy.

Hannibal turns his head, kisses over Will's thready pulse. Will's intake of breath is quicker, this time, readiness and eagerness making his fingers flex. Hannibal shushes him again, coaxes him to breathe until he goes lax.

"My sweet boy," he whispers, noting how Will's neck and arms break out in goose bumps, his head tilts _just_ to, to get Hannibal's mouth at his ear. Hannibal obliges him, kisses him where his skin is thin and pale, nuzzles his hair. "Never in my life could I have imagined meeting someone as lovely, as perfectly suited to me as you are."

Will trembles, presses his lips together. Squeezes Hannibal's thighs.

"You delight me, Will," Hannibal continues. He spreads the hand on Will's stomach out, fingertips brushing the neat, fine trail of hair between his navel and his cock. Will lifts his hips and Hannibal kisses his neck again, teases his tongue in a single touch, a pinprick of wet heat. Will jolts, finely, as though he's been struck.

"Hannibal," he breathes.

"Keep your eyes closed, darling," Hannibal reminds him, presses gently at his stomach to get Will to correct his posture, to use Hannibal as his backboard, as his support. "That's it. Good boy."

Will shakes, whines.

"Shh, my love, it's alright. Just relax." He pushes his thumb to Will's pulse, just a tease, the rest of his hand remaining, just resting, not squeezing. To rob Will of air with his hands is not the point – Hannibal wants to grind him to dust with his words, with nothing but his love and the gentle heat of the fire.

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are to me?" Hannibal asks, kissing the words to Will's neck. "Even in the darkness, even when I cannot see you, you move the air around you, brighten it just for being there."

Will wants to protest. His lips part, cheeks pink – from the fire, from embarrassment, Hannibal isn't sure. Praise and humility are common bedfellows, and Hannibal intends to pick both apart, fling them into a tempest in Will's heart.

He dips his fingers down, below Will's jeans, below his underwear. Finds Will dripping, hard. He circles his fingers around Will's cockhead, pulls it to peek out just above the line of his clothes. Covers Will with his shirt, jealous that even the art might see Will posed like this, when he is only for Hannibal's eyes.

He flattens his palm over Will's jeans, over the bulge of his arousal. Presses down _just_ so and rolls with Will as he moans, aching, arching. He anchors Will by his neck, teeth and hand bearing down on Will's exposed flesh.

"You amaze and delight me, Will," Hannibal murmurs, nips at Will's earlobe, touches his tongue to the slip of pink, sweat-dampened skin below. "But more than that, darling, I have never been so satisfied as I am with you."

" _Hannibal_ ," Will whispers again, strained. He turns his head towards Hannibal, nose to Hannibal's cheek, and Hannibal smiles, turns and kisses his sweet mouth. Once, chastely. His hand presses down on Will again, encouraging him to arch up, he cups Will's cock and squeezes and Will whimpers, tugging himself closer with his hands on Hannibal's thighs, burrowing into him like he might carve a space there and never come out.

Hannibal smiles. "I know, with you, Will, I will never want for anything." And that is true, he feels it's true, deep in his chest. Will completes him in a way nothing else has – continues to, with every smile, every surprise, every flash of his lovely eyes and his wolfish grin. "And neither will you. If the only thing I accomplish is making you happy, then I will consider my life well-lived."

Will's breath hitches. He turns his face away, but Hannibal sees the shine of tears on his cheeks. He leans in, catches one with his thumb, brings it to his mouth to taste.

Sighs into Will's ear, tightens his hand as Will bucks in earnest, writhing.

"I love you, Will," he growls, and Will goes abruptly still. His fingers flex, and his eyes, finally, _finally_ open. He turns his head and cups Hannibal's jaw with one hand, the other sliding down to Hannibal's knee, and kisses him, and kisses him again. Desperate, hungry things that make Hannibal think of carnivorous flowers, water droplets glistening on spiderwebs.

 _Will_.

"I love you too," Will replies, and in it, Hannibal hears an offering; _my life, my love, they're yours_.

Hannibal smiles, kisses Will deeply and squeezes his throat. "Show me."

Will gasps, and Hannibal rubs his palm against the hard line of Will's cock, as Will's face goes tight, his breath hitches and he closes his eyes, buries his face in Hannibal's neck. "That's it, darling," Hannibal whispers, encouraging. "Let go. Show me."

Will whimpers, his stomach sinking in, and Hannibal feels the twitch and tremor of him, plants his palm over Will's shirt to feel it grow wet and warm with his release. Will goes boneless in his arms, panting, shaking, and he turns within them, prowls up Hannibal's body and takes his face with both hands, kissing, kissing again, a soft snarl rolling in the air between them.

Will's eyes are wild, dark with shadows. His hair, a mess of damp sweat, falls around his face. His lips, pink as they are, swollen, shine with saliva and he licks them, leans in, noses brushing, jaws parted as though to kiss again, but he doesn't. Resists, holds back, settles his weight over one of Hannibal's thighs, mindful of the cage still keeping Hannibal restrained.

If Hannibal saw Will, every day for the rest of his life, this would be the moment he remembered most, in the sharpest clarity. If he only managed to get one sketch of Will, one perfect portrait of static, he would choose this one to capture.

He curls both hands in Will's hair, pulls him down for a kiss, and Will sighs, settles. Smiles.

"Promise me something," he murmurs.

"Anything," Hannibal replies.

Will's smile widens, and he blinks slow like a sated cat, once. He rests their foreheads together, trembling, his back warm from the fire when Hannibal cradles him close. He nuzzles Will's cheek, smells salt there from his tears.

Will shivers, licks his lips.

"When we get back from the cabin, you'll let me do that for you," Will says. Hannibal blinks, humming curiously. "You've been so good, Hannibal. To me, and for me. You deserve this just as much as I did."

Debatable. But Hannibal smiles, and kisses Will again, pulling him closer as the fire brightens their faces, sends their shadows in sharp contrast to the back wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? screams? demands for more? I'd love to hear them. <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so we've got some nice dinner with Alana, some more kinky shit, and a trip to the cabin! Please note the updated tags. This one took me a little longer (6 hours, RIP me) but I figure, you know, you guys weren't sitting and waiting around for it, so it's a nice surprise all the same ;D

Three days pass. Then a fourth. Then a fifth.  It's frustrating, more for the fact that Hannibal doesn't get to see Will than the sexual aspect. He simply enjoys being in the man's company, on a very basic level. It is call and response, mating and attraction. A conversation with Will, or sitting with him in silence while he grades papers and Hannibal reads, close enough for an errant hand or absent kiss, is just as invigorating as laying him out on Hannibal's bed and reaping more physical rewards.

He misses Will. He'd been called away to Florida to investigate a strange series of murders where the people's bodies were being ritualistically carved, and Will is as eager as anyone in the BAU to disprove and dispel theories of a Satanic cult before they can gain much traction. Religion is the worst when it's weaponized. Will hadn't told him much about the case, but the media has taken the story and run with it, and every now and again, on the scene of a new murder, Hannibal has caught glimpses of Will in Jack's shadow, looking harried and irritated as he usually does when reporters get involved. It makes him smile, but his chest aches with a pang impossible to ignore.

The cage around his cock has proven largely unimposing. Navigating the bathroom was certainly an adventure, but Hannibal did not often indulge in self-pleasure before Will and the fact that he cannot doesn't bother him. It is a subtle ache, a bedmate to the one in his chest that simply misses Will, and can go largely ignored.

They speak on the phone, but neither of them have time for anything more than a simple assurance that the other is alive, doing well, and misses them. He will get periodic texts throughout the day, which largely consist of Will complaining about hotel coffee and gas station food while on cases.

"You've spoiled me," he says.

Hannibal smiles towards his phone, which sits on his bedside table. Will is on speaker, and though the hour is late, apparently they've tracked down a potential suspect and are staking the location out. Jack had gone to get coffee and use the bathroom in a grocery store down the street, leaving Will alone and able to speak freely to Hannibal for a while.

"I will happily admit to it," Hannibal replies, turning the page of a book filled with a collection of essays by Stephen Hawking. It's a book he's read many times before, and allows part of his brain to engage and distract while the rest of him is focused on Will's voice. He's sitting upright, his feet pulled up and legs bent, so that the weight of his cage doesn't pull uncomfortably on his cock and belly. The weight of it, the warm metal, is a constant reminder of Will that he adores as much as the man's voice. "When you're back, I will gladly realign your taste buds to something more fitting."

Will hums, the sound at once pleased and sad. "I miss you," he breathes, and Hannibal hears a rustle, probably a bag of chips or the leftover wrappings of a sandwich. Will sighs. Hannibal imagines him, sharp eyes focused outwards for any movement, elbow up on the window of the car, free hand running through his hair. "How are you doing?"

Hannibal knows what he's really asking about. "The adjustment period was thankfully very short," he says.

Will huffs. "You always were adaptable," he replies, warm and pleased.

Hannibal smiles. "I'm very much looking forward to you coming home," he says.

Will's laugh is louder, this time, has edges. Hannibal imagines his smile has turned wolfish, sharp at the corners, showing his teeth in a way Hannibal so loves. "I bet," he purrs. Hannibal forces his breathing to remain steady, though his fingers flex on the edges of the book and something in his stomach flickers, the beginnings of arousal he knows he's in no position to fulfil.

But he smiles, for he is equally good at teasing his lover; "You'll get your wish, darling. I intend to make a thorough mess of you." He pauses, listens to Will growl. "In you."

" _Fuck_ , Hannibal," Will whispers, and he shifts his weight again. Hannibal hears the car creak, the window roll down like Will is too warm. "Screw you, I can't get a Goddamn boner in the middle of a stake-out."

"Then I hope you'll think twice about teasing me, in the future," Hannibal replies with a smile.

Will laughs, and Hannibal can practically hear his eye-roll. "Maybe I just wanted to hear your voice," he replies, petulant, yet smug. Easing off the gas just as Hannibal leans into the sharp curve – his ever-unpredictable Will.

But Hannibal softens, warms with him. "I miss you too, darling," he murmurs, turning the page again though he hasn't been reading for some time. "Do you think you'll be returning home soon?"

"I hope so," Will replies. "If we catch the guy quick, we'll be turning him over to the P.D. down here."

"Excellent," Hannibal says. He turns his head again, spying the time on the clock. It's just past midnight.

Will seems to realize the time in the same moment. He sighs. "I'll let you sleep," he says, the sadness returning to his voice, and with it Hannibal feels that dull ache in his chest. He wishes, more than anything, that Will were here with him – that Hannibal could reach out and touch him, and kiss him, and listen to him fall asleep. Will's even breathing is a soothing sound, and Hannibal has found himself so accustomed to it that its absence, along with the silence where his heartbeat should be, has made him somewhat of an insomniac. His fingers feel cold when not warmed by Will's flesh, by his hair.

He sighs, and closes the book, settling down into bed. He takes the phone and puts Will off speaker, putting it to his ear. "I hope the stake-out proves fruitful," he says, and receives a hum in answer. "I love you, Will. Good night."

He hears Will's smile in his voice, and, softly; "I love you too. Talk soon."

He hangs up, and Hannibal sighs, setting his phone down again. He tries to sleep. It is fitful.

 

 

He invites Alana to dinner the next night. If Will is going to be out of town, there's no need to delay her well-earned dinner. She knows Will is out, but accepts, and offers to play sous-chef for him – an offer he gladly accepts. She is a soothing presence and welcome company, and will fill the space by his side where Will should be well enough. Enough to distract him.

Yet, when three rolls around, half an hour before the time he invited her over, his door opens. Hannibal looks up, frowning – for while she is prompt, she is never early, and does not have her own key – and washes his hands as he hears the familiar, tell-tale sounds of shoes being kicked off, of a coat being hastily discarded and thrown into the closet.

He exits the kitchen, into the main hallway, and stops dead in his tracks when he sees Will.

He looks _beautiful_. His cheeks are flushed, his skin a shade darker on his face and neck from so much time in the Florida sun, his eyes bright and a brilliant mesh of blue and green under the mess of his hair. He pauses when he feels Hannibal's eyes on him, straightens, and their eyes meet, and Will's entire demeanor softens, brightens like white light through stained glass.

"Hi," he murmurs. Though he's static, he's practically vibrating, his smile so wide, so _happy_ to be home.

Hannibal smiles at him, and opens his arms to Will, and Will rushes to him, throws himself into Hannibal's embrace so strongly that they turn and Hannibal ends up against the wall, laughing into the eager, passionate kiss Will gives him. Will's hands wrap around his flanks, tugging so that the cage juts sharply between their thighs, and Hannibal's fingers curl in his hair, holding him close, kissing him until he's breathless and flushed for an entirely different reason.

"I didn't know you were coming back," he says, when they part for air.

Will nods, breathing heavily. His eyes have darkened now, sharp on Hannibal's face. He arches to Hannibal again, steals another kiss. "Got a flight back as soon as we turned over the guy," he says. "Caught him in the morning shift. Didn't sleep. I wanted to see you."

Flattering. As Will always is, and yet;

"Time is, once again, not on our side," Hannibal breathes, as Will's hands flatten, spread out, settle low on his hips. The ache in his chest has grown teeth, slithered down like a python ready to ensnare its prey. Will blinks, frowning. "Alana will be here any minute. She was going to help me make dinner tonight."

Will makes a low, frustrated sound. Hannibal can feel how hard he is, his erection rutting up on the underside of Hannibal's cage – and Hannibal himself is not unaffected. His gut feels heavy and he can feel himself filling, though he can't get fully hard. Where the weight of the cage had been a simple thing, a reminder of his love and dedication to Will, now it feels restraining, feels like true confinement. Stifling. Restrictive.

"Shit," Will mutters, lowering his forehead to Hannibal's shoulder. He flexes his fingers, gentles them and runs them up Hannibal's sides, nuzzles his neck. "Damn it. Is it bad that I want to tell you to cancel?"

Hannibal laughs, petting through Will's hair, nails scratching over the nape of his neck. "Not at all, darling," he replies. "But she's likely already on her way, and though I would love nothing more than to take you upstairs, it would be very rude of us to turn her away."

Will sighs, lifting his head, his eyes closed. He licks his lips. "Should I go?"

"No," Hannibal says, more fiercely than he intended to say, but not to mean. Will's eyes open, and he smiles, happy and full of adoration. Hannibal smiles, and kisses him again, for he cannot resist. "Come. I can easily accommodate you at my table, and I'm sure Alana will be delighted to see you."

Will sucks in a breath, nods, and pulls back. Just a half-step. His eyes drop to Hannibal's suit pants and he tentatively slides his hands down, flattens them on Hannibal's hips again, looks up through his lashes.

"Can I see it?" he murmurs.

Hannibal smile widens, and he nods. Will sucks in a breath, dropping in a graceful motion to his knees. He lifts Hannibal's vest up just enough to expose his belt, fingers shaking but sure as he tugs at it, unthreading it and letting the ends hang. His mouth is open, wet, and he breaks gazes with Hannibal to watch as his hands unbutton and unfasten his pants, pulling them apart as well. He tugs Hannibal's shirt free and Hannibal helps him work his pants down to his thighs, exposing his underwear. The outline of the cage is a stark, unnatural thing, and Will practically whines when he sees it.

"I can't believe you've been wearing this for six days," he breathes, warm over the fabric as he leans in and nuzzles Hannibal's thigh. His hands flatten on either side of the outline of the cage, pulling the fabric tight, and Hannibal growls, shoulders rolling at the pressure. "I would have overnighted the keys to you if you asked."

"I know," Hannibal replies, one hand still in Will's hair, tugging. Will leans into it, his breathing uneven, unsteady. He looks like a man who has just seen the face of God. "It is not as intrusive as I think we both feared it might be. Though I cannot say, had you been here to use me as you wanted, I would have lasted so long before begging you to take it off."

The words strike Will, settle heavily on his shoulders. "Could I have made you beg?" he asks, worship-soft, tilting his head up to meet Hannibal's eyes.

Hannibal smiles, showing his teeth. "Undoubtedly."

"Fuck," Will growls. He curls his fingers at the top of Hannibal's underwear, carefully tugging them down to knot around his thighs, revealing the cage. He breathes out, another curse heavy on his tongue as the light catches the gleaming metal encasing Hannibal's cock. Hannibal's cock is pressing up against the coils of the cage, and he shivers when Will cups his balls, and they somehow seem so heavy, the bite of arousal at the base of his neck suddenly so sharp and insistent.

" _God_ ," Will whispers, the word weak like he can barely form it. The raw, ravenous look on his face feels like a touch all its own, and he leans in, rests his lips on the second ring around the base of Hannibal's cock. Hannibal sighs, closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall, tugging on Will's hair. The touch of heat from his mouth is maddening, and Hannibal's entire body wants to roll to him, _into_ him.

He tugs on Will's hair again and Will moans, softly, his tongue snaking out to press between the two rings, and Hannibal can't bear it. He hauls Will to his feet, turns him to the wall and kisses him deeply, teeth in Will's lower lip. Will grabs for him, hungry, shaking in Hannibal's arms.

Hannibal pulls back with monumental effort, trembling as much as Will is. Will licks his lips, his eyes bright and sharp, but the ravenous edge in his gaze is softened by how awed the rest of him is, how helpless when presented evidence of his control over Hannibal.

"Tonight," Hannibal growls. One word, yet it shakes Will to the core.

He trembles, and nods. Bites his lower lip and touches his neck where there are no more bruises. "Tonight," he replies.

Hannibal smiles, and corrects his clothes until he's presentable once again. He takes Will by the hair and kisses him once more, before they pull apart at the sound of a firm knock. Will flushes immediately, too-aware of the fact that, had it come a moment sooner, they would have been caught in a very uncompromising position.

Hannibal laughs, and lets Will go. "Let her in, darling," he says. "I'll pour us some drinks, and we'll get started."

 

 

Alana is, as Hannibal knew she would be, overjoyed at seeing Will there. A delightful surprise. She falls into her role as sous-chef easily, an apron tied around her waist and one of the drinks Hannibal brews her in her hand as Hannibal hands her a cutting board and knife, along with spring onions and carrots.

"So it wasn't a 'Satanic Cult'?" she asks, using air quotes as she sets her glass down and picks up the knife.

Will huffs, shaking his head. He has wine in hand, and has eagerly accepted the role of pleasant company and passive onlooker. He doesn't offer to help cook – the kitchen, as Hannibal had playfully teased on their first meeting, is Hannibal's domain. And yet, the air is thick and charged for him being there. The reminder of the cage has sharpened his smile and makes his eyes almost glow, a predator just waiting for Hannibal to crawl closer. He appears as something hunting, prowling, waiting for the moment to strike.

Occasionally, his eyes go to Hannibal, a caress as firm as any hand, and Hannibal shivers.

"Nope," he replies. "Just another pack of teenagers following a _very_ misguided older man."

Hannibal smiles, placing a pot of chicken thighs in water onto the stovetop and turning on the heat, so that the meat will boil to tenderness. "It can be an intoxicating mindset," he says mildly, but makes sure his eyes are on Will when he adds; "To follow an Alpha. To have that kind of control over impressionable young minds."

Will's eyes flash, and he lifts his chin.

"I think it's barbaric," Alana replies, shaking her head as she slices the spring onions into neat rings. Hannibal takes the first of several carrots, opens the drawer where his trash can is, and starts peeling. Will's eyes have fallen to his hands and Hannibal swallows, feeling too-warm.

"It is," Will says, very quietly. "When incorrectly applied, that kind of control can lead to…unfortunate things."

Hannibal meets his eyes, finds him smiling.

He returns it. "Is there a correct may to apply that kind of control?" he asks. Purrs the words.

Will's eyebrow rises, his head tilts. "Of course," he replies, taking a sip of his wine. It's a pink color, and very sweet. Hannibal likes the taste of sweet things in Will's mouth. "There's a correct way to apply almost anything, I think."

Hannibal considers that, lips pressing together as he returns his attention to peeling the carrots. Alana has finished with the spring onions, and he looks to her briefly, saying; "Add that to the pot. And dice the carrots when I'm done with them."

Alana nods, smiling and, since she has a break, she takes a sip of her drink.

"How have you been, Alana?" Will asks, letting the tides ebb for now, merciful on Hannibal's nerves. "I'm sorry I haven't been around more."

Alana grins at him, and winks, her eyes darting between Will and Hannibal. "I've heard that both of you have become somewhat solitary since you started dating. Even more than you usually are. All cooped up in your love nest with no time for the rest of us."

Hannibal smiles, unapologetic.

Will huffs a laugh, his cheeks flushing a delicate pink to match the wine. "What can I say?" he asks, teasing, with a shrug of one shoulder. "Guilty as charged."

She laughs, and takes her knife again, wiping it on a cloth before she starts to dice the carrots as Hannibal hands them to her. He has three peeled, now. "I'm happy for you guys," she says warmly, genuinely. "Even though I'm also extremely jealous."

"Do we need to play matchmaker for you, now?" Hannibal teases.

She raises her eyebrows at him, and makes a move with her knife that is playfully threatening. "I can get my own dates, thank you very much."

Hannibal shakes his head, raising his hands in a placative gesture. "The offer is there," he says, smiling. "I'll concede that you are right – I will never be able to fully repay you for facilitating our introduction." He looks to Will, finds his eyes have softened, shining. "I daresay Will and I are perfectly suited for each other."

Will flushes, pleased and sheepish, and smiles into his glass.

"You guys are sickening," Alana huffs, but she's smiling as well. "Alright, where are the carrots going?"

"Just set them to one side. I have stock prepared for the chicken, so once that's done we will transfer it there and add the carrots later." In truth, he had intended a dish that would have taken far longer to make, but now that Will is here, Hannibal finds himself impatient. He does not want to linger in the kitchen, nor the dining room.

No, he would much rather rush to their bedroom, and reacquaint himself with his lover as soon as possible.

 

 

They drink, they eat, they laugh. Time rushes by, as eager as Hannibal. Hannibal puts Alana to his right, Will on his left in his usual spot. The soup is a humble offering, but hearty, and well-received with thick slices of homemade bread that Hannibal baked that morning. The wine flows and Hannibal is glad for Alana being here – he has missed her, and her presence is a soothing balm on his frayed nerves. With Will at his side, the ache in his chest is gone, settled lower, but dozing. He's sure it will awaken as soon as Alana leaves.

She does, as the hour turns to nine. Will hugs her tightly, his nose in her hair, a promise shared between them to meet for coffee the next day. Hannibal does not hug her, too-aware that she might feel the cage if they are pressed too tightly, but embraces her with one arm and gives her a kiss on the cheek before she leaves. He watches her go, and shuts the door behind her.

Will presses up to his back, warm and solid, wraps his arms around Hannibal's chest and kisses his shoulder.

"That was nice," he murmurs, and Hannibal nods in agreement. He can feel the impatience in Will's chest, mirrored in his own, but Will makes no move to pull him towards the bedroom. He knows Hannibal will be compelled to clean up after them.

So, he turns, gathers the dishes from the dining room and goes to the kitchen to wash up. He thinks he could satisfy himself with soaking them, at least.

Will remains at his side, his wine glass sitting a safe distance away from the sink. He dries and places the dishes as Hannibal washes them. It is a calming, domestic task, and warms Hannibal from the spine, out. It's pleasing to know that, yes, they are discovering very new and intense sexual compatibility between them, but it has not shredded the fact that they are still simply comfortable with each other. Will is at home in Hannibal's home, and Hannibal likes that.

When nothing remains but the pot, which Hannibal leaves to soak, he washes and dries his hands and waits until Will follows suit, before he takes Will's hands and draws him close, kisses chastely at his mouth. Will arches into him, warm and needy, his hands finding their place on Hannibal's shoulders as they kiss.

Hannibal pulls back, smiling. "I'll confess, darling, I'm not sure how long I will last, when I have you in my bed again."

Will laughs, though it's shaky and low. "I don't care," he replies. "I haven't been fucked in more than a Goddamn week." He blinks, lashes low, and leans in for another kiss. "I need you."

Hannibal growls, fingers flexing in Will's hair. "Perhaps you will indulge me, then," he says.

Will tilts his head, lets out a curious hum. Then, he smiles. "I'll do whatever you want." And he sounds like he means it. Will's control has very defined limits, and he dances between them, between dominance and submission, as easily as he might change into and out of his clothes. He has exerted his control over Hannibal for the build-up, for the climb, and now releases it in anticipation of the fallout. Hands over the reins for Hannibal to decide now, in what manner, Hannibal gives himself over.

Hannibal smiles, and leads Will towards the bedroom. "I have had some time to think about this hunt you proposed," he says, and hears Will's breath catch. They enter the bedroom and Hannibal leaves the light on, guides Will to a space next to the bed and kisses him. "There are some practical things to consider. Be still."

Will shivers, but stands straight, his fingers curling by his sides as Hannibal pulls away from him. Hannibal circles him, tucks his fingers under the hem of Will's shirt and lifts it, baring his back. Will lifts his arms and ducks his head, allowing it to be pulled off him.

Hannibal kisses his neck in reward, and Will shivers again. "What kind of things?"

Hannibal smiles, circles to his front. The mark he left on Will's chest is still there, a tiny finger-print sized bruise the color of dark wine. "For starters," he says, and puts his hands to Will's belt, tugging it free. "What if I cannot find you? Would you want to spend the night out in the darkness?"

Will tilts his head, eyes dark with consideration. Then, he shrugs. "A time limit, then," he says. "We can leave clothes and a flashlight in a marked place, and if you haven't found me by nightfall, I will safely go there and return to the cabin."

Hannibal nods. It's not the most practical solution, but he doesn't doubt Will's own navigational abilities, if he's the one who is suggesting it. He would never do Will the disservice of doubting him.

"I do also want to consider the…implicit lack of consent," Hannibal says, pulling Will's belt free in a swift glide. Will's breath catches when Hannibal doesn't drop it, but leaves it on the bedside table. His eyes are sharp on Hannibal's hands, his cock thickening now, creating a bulge in his slacks. "When I catch you, would you want to be mounted right there, or dragged back to the cabin?"

Will's lips part around an unsteady inhale. His fingers flex, and he licks his lips. Hannibal cannot resist kissing him, stealing a taste of sweet wine and salty meat from his tongue. "If the place is remote enough, I don't have a problem with outside sex," he says, and Hannibal nods. As he bares more of Will, sees evidence of his desire growing as the flush down his chest spreads, Hannibal's own arousal is sending sharp messages up his spine. The coils of the cage are a terrible press of warm metal, and he feels heavy in his gut, desperate to have it off, to have Will.

"But," Will adds, breath hitching as Hannibal unbuttons his slacks, unzips them, dips his hand down to cup Will's cock through his underwear and squeeze gently, "I trust your discretion, and your decision, regarding the 'where'."

Hannibal nods, pleased at Will's trust in him. He tugs at Will's clothes, pulling him in, and kisses him as Will stumbles into his chest, hands finding Hannibal's shoulders and digging in. He feels the tremble in Will's knees, the sag of his chest as he moans into Hannibal's mouth, rutting desperately against his hand through his underwear.

Hannibal smiles, nips Will's lower lip, and pushes his slacks down to his knees, underwear following soon after. Then, he kneels, and Will's breath hitches as he pushes the clothes to Will's ankles and guides him to step out of them. Will's hands find his hair, carding through it and tugging, _just_ a little in eager encouragement.

Hannibal remains on his knees, looking up at Will. Will's eyes are dark, half-hidden behind his messy hair. His cheeks and chest bear a lovely blush, and Hannibal takes his cock in hand, turns his head and licks up the shaft with a quiet hum of pleasure. Will is fully hard, now, and groans as Hannibal licks through the slit of his cock, gathering wetness onto his tongue. Will's diet has turned him sharp, here, and Hannibal hums again, swallowing, his fingers forming a tight ring half-way down.

He strokes, once, and Will's gut sinks in, fingers going tight for a moment.

Hannibal stands, squeezing Will's cock, and Will gasps, eyes clenched tightly shut, jaw bulging at the corner. Hannibal kisses his cheek, nuzzles his sweat-damp hair.

Puts his teeth to Will's ear; "There is one more thing I want to consider."

Will whines. "Hannibal, _please_."

Hannibal smiles, kissing the delicate skin under Will's ear. "Patience, my love," he murmurs. Will swallows tightly, and nods, once.

"What, then?" he demands, thick with impatience.

Hannibal huffs a laugh, both incredibly proud and viscerally satisfied that he can affect Will with so little. "It is just something I thought about, considering my own proclivities," he says, kissing Will's neck again. "Animals bite."

Will's shoulders roll. "I won't, if you're not into that," he replies honestly.

"You misunderstand me, darling," Hannibal replies. In truth, the thought of Will getting so wild, of being so riled up, that the threat of his teeth turned into a bite is incredibly arousing. Will's nails already feel so good when he uses them, he's sure teeth would feel even better. "Only, if threatened by a wild animal, a hunter may be compelled to take certain…precautions."

Will goes still, pulls back. Not in rejection, but so that he can see Hannibal's eyes. Hannibal releases his cock, not wanting to distract while Will thinks.

Will bites his lower lip, frowning, head tilted in consideration. "So…what? Like a muzzle?"

"Exactly," Hannibal replies, forever-proud of Will's keen insight. Will's head tilts further. "Just for the sake of the game. And only during a hunt." He smiles, cups Will's jaw and brushes his thumb over Will's slick lower lip. Will shivers. "I would never deny myself your lovely mouth."

Will licks his lips, tongue catching on the pad of Hannibal's thumb. Hannibal growls at the feeling. "Would I be able to breathe with that on?" he asks.

Hannibal's smile widens. "That, my sweet boy," he purrs, "is what I'd like to propose tonight." Will's eyes darken, his fingers curling on Hannibal's flanks. Hannibal allows himself to be pulled closer, the tightness of the cage around his cock becoming a momentary yet insistent distraction as he presses against Will's bare belly.

Will blinks. "Asphyxiation?" he says.

"Mild," Hannibal replies with a nod. He smiles. "I think I could bring you to incredible heights, and you seemed to enjoy it before. I'm merely proposing we take it a step further. Even without a muzzle, you will be out of breath after the hunt, and I think, given a taste, you would become hungry for it."

Will isn't shaking his head. He looks very intrigued. "With your hands?" he asks, cupping Hannibal's wrist.

"Hands," Hannibal says with a nod. "And your belt, if you're willing to try."

Will's eyes sharpen, and his gaze snaps to the belt on the bedside table. He licks his lips again and shivers, sucking in a harsh breath. "Just your hands, first," he says, and Hannibal nods, accepting that. "Then, maybe – maybe the belt. If I like it."

"Of course, darling," Hannibal murmurs. He takes a step back, releasing Will. "Sit."

Will obeys, shivering when his bare skin meets the cool sheets. Hannibal takes off his vest, his tie, and his shirt, leaving them in a pile on the floor by his feet. He takes the bottle of lubricant out and sets it next to the belt buckle, before he prowls his way between Will's thighs, as Will pushes back to lay down on the bed.

He leans down, cupping Will's neck with both hands, and lifts him into a kiss. "This is not about treating you like an animal, Will," he says, for he feels it's important to make the distinction. "Tonight, I simply want to enjoy you. I've missed you so much, I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel."

Will nods, eyes already glassy as they go when Hannibal starts touching him. He spreads his legs and arches up, digs his nails into Hannibal's exposed flanks. "I trust you," he whispers. Hannibal smiles, and kisses him again in reward.

Then, he flattens one hand on Will's neck, cups his throat with a steady touch, and squeezes. Will's body goes tense, instinctively fighting it, before he relaxes, swallowing. The motion is like ocean tides, and Hannibal growls, kissing Will and taking his air as he tightens his hand a little more. Lets the pressure build, until Will's chest heaves and his hands flatten on Hannibal's sides.

He releases, and Will's breath leaves him in a heavy shudder. Hannibal rests their foreheads together, so he can see Will's eyes, feel his shaking inhale, and cups his cock with his other hand. The trust Will is showing in him, the eagerness to follow his lead, is intoxicating to say the least.

He lets Will breathe, lets him settle and stiffen as Hannibal strokes his cock, until Will lets out a soft, pleading whine, his hand wrapping around Hannibal's wrist, wanting him to press again. Hannibal smiles, and does so, tightening his thumb against Will's racing pulse, and kisses him to steal more air, bites his lower lip until Will stutters, stalls, his cock twitching and his stomach sinking in. The scent of him is spiced, now, sweat and arousal making Hannibal's mouth water as he breathes Will in.

" _Hannibal_ ," Will whispers, too weak to put force into his name, but all the sweeter for it.

"That's it, darling," Hannibal coaxes, releasing Will's neck. He's pink here, now, too, flushed with pleasure as Hannibal keeps touching him. "Relax into it. Let it take you."

Will swallows, nails of his free hand dragging across Hannibal's shoulders. Hannibal releases his cock, just briefly, to grab at the bottle of lubricant, open it and wet his fingers with it before he returns his touch to between Will's legs.

Will arches up into it, neck and hips, eager. He's tight and hot here, gone too-long without Hannibal fucking him, and Hannibal reminds himself to be gentle even as he starts another round of pressure on Will's neck. His own arousal is heavy in his head now, his cock aching where it's restrained, still-caged, unable to fill properly. It's becoming an annoyance, something rabid and dangerous that sharpens his teeth and makes him want to bite.

"Wait," Will says, tugging at his wrist. Hannibal releases him immediately, straightening as Will sits up and pulls him in for a kiss. "Should we -? Do you need to take the cage off? Doesn't it hurt?"

And Hannibal wants to agree, wants to say 'Yes' and let Will remove it, but with the way Will is arching so sweetly into him, the promise of his tight body and gasping breaths, would be too much, he's sure, for him to be able to hold back before he's done with his work.

So he kisses Will, forces a smile that feels more like a grimace, and shakes his head. "Let me," he purrs, and touches Will's neck again. Will doesn't fight him; leans into the pressure until his breaths turn gasping. His cock twitches as Hannibal forces him back down, and with it, he pushes with one finger into Will, curling up.

Will moans, harsh and weak, rolls his hips to take Hannibal in deeper. Hannibal wishes, in that moment, that he had more hands – could choke Will and touch his cock and spread him open at the same time. Rake nails across his chest, pull on his hair. He wants to touch Will everywhere.

He leans down, drags his thumb to a hollow beneath Will's jaw, bites at his throat as he squeezes tight and forces his finger in deeply, curling, stretching him out. Will clutches at his shoulders, a series of weak, needy sounds spilling from his parted lips. He's breathless, eyes bright with it, desperate in a way Hannibal so adores.

He bites, sucks a bruise on Will's tender skin, and Will goes tense, shuddering as Hannibal takes his air, takes his breath, his lungs seize and his stomach tightens. He works in a second finger as Will starts to come, and Hannibal releases his neck immediately, finds Will's mouth with his own, drinks down his cries as Will touches his cock and works himself through his orgasm.

" _Fuck_ ," Will growls, half a word, half a snarl, and puts his free hand in Hannibal's hair, thighs pressing tight on Hannibal's hips as he rolls onto Hannibal's fingers, suffocatingly tight, burning hot, strong. Wild. Hannibal keeps fucking him with his fingers as he knows Will likes, forces his spasming muscles to tremble and accept him, until he finds Will's prostate and rubs his fingers along it, sharpening his pleasure.

Will goes limp, whimpering as Hannibal keeps touching him, before he flinches, writhing, and gasps. "Fuck, stop – stop," he says, and Hannibal smiles, pulling his fingers out and wiping them on the sheets. Will collapses, a strained laugh coming from his slack mouth. He looks beautiful like this, sweating and sated and shining with pleasure.

Hannibal leans over him, kissing him deeply, and Will laughs again, cradling Hannibal's jaw with his clean hand. He hums, lax and accepting of the kiss, and slides his hand around the back of Hannibal's neck, across his shoulder, before Hannibal pulls away.

"That was…" His voice is hoarse, wrecked. Hannibal huffs a laugh, brushing his hair from his eyes.

"Good?" he suggests.

Will nods, almost awed. "Yeah," he murmurs. Then he grins. "You're waking me up to a lot of shit I didn't know about myself, and that's saying something."

"If it's any consolation, the feeling is mutual," Hannibal replies, smiling.

Will hums, purrs, leans in for another kiss. "Lay back," he commands, and Hannibal obeys. Will stands, somewhat shaky, and goes to his slacks to retrieve his keys. He climbs back into bed and straddles Hannibal's clothed thighs, the keyring settled over his middle finger.

He leans down, steals another kiss. The wolf has returned to his eyes, a predator growling and ready to lunge. "Here's what I want to happen," he says, voice low, rough, and Hannibal shivers. "I'm going to take the cage off you. You're going to wrap the belt around my neck and use it when you're fucking me." Hannibal snarls, settles his hands warm and wide on Will's thighs. Will smiles, off-kilter, showing his teeth. "If you can last long enough to make me come again, I'll do something for you." His head tilts. "Sound fair?"

Hannibal's breath catches. "What would you let me do?"

Will smiles, dragging his nails down Hannibal's chest. "Is there nothing you want, that you've been afraid to ask me, until now?"

He asks like he knows. Of course he knows – Will is a persistent creature, with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue. Hannibal swallows as Will's fingers find the waistband of his suit pants, starts to undress him.

He thinks of that so-persistent fantasy, of feeding Will by hand, of having him kneel and suck Hannibal's cock in his study; of his lips, red and bruised, of him rutting against Hannibal's leg. "I want your mouth," he breathes.

Will raises an eyebrow. "That's pretty mild, baby," he purrs.

Hannibal huffs. "You'll have to forgive me, darling, I'm distracted."

Will's eyes flash, and he smiles. "Well, if you want my mouth…" he murmurs, and shifts back, pulling Hannibal's pants and underwear down to bare the cage. His breath goes quiet for a moment, face slackening with awe, before he swallows and meets Hannibal's eyes again. "I see no reason to deny you that."

Then, he leans down, cupping and lifting the cage so that it tugs on Hannibal's cock and balls. Hannibal goes tense, sucking in a harsh breath through his teeth, and Will grins at him, never breaking gazes, parts his lips and licks through the hole at the base of the cage. The slick of his tongue feels red-hot after so long without sensation and Hannibal growls, rolling his hips, eyes closing as he allows the pleasure to ricochet up his spine. His hands curl and his eyes fly open as Will growls, and tugs.

"Eyes on me, baby," he murmurs, and kisses at the coil, his warm hand idly tugging gently at the padlocks hanging from the base. "I want to see you."

Hannibal growls, baring his teeth, but obeys. Watches as Will grins, parts his jaws wide and sucks the bottom of the cage into his mouth. The heat, the wetness, it makes Hannibal groan, his cock pressing insistently on the innards of the cage as Will sucks him through it. The angle is somewhat awkward, and the ring around his balls digs and tugs at him, but Hannibal cannot force himself to move, cannot break eye contact.

His hand wraps in Will's hair, tugging, and Will moans. Hannibal is overcome with thoughts of how it would feel, sheathed deep in Will's throat as he moaned and sucked on Hannibal's cock. The tease of it makes him want to rip, to pull at Will's hair and his neck and his thighs until he's broken, shaken to the core.

Will's teeth catch on the metal, the sound of it sparking in Hannibal's brain as he watches Will, cheeks hollowing as he sucks at the head of Hannibal's cock through the cage. Cups his balls, tugs like he needs to pull Hannibal back from the edge, draws his hand away. Hannibal is incensed, burning under Will's touch. Will's other hand flattens on his hip, tight, controls the need to roll and fuck upward. Hannibal is shaking, and his free hand finds Will's, the one with the keyring, and he laces their fingers so harshly together their knuckles turn white.

Will pulls back, licks through the hole at the bottom again, and grins widely. "Impatient?" he teases, and Hannibal wants to snarl at him. Were he free, he wouldn't hesitate in rearing up, throwing Will down and fucking him until he screamed.

Yet.

"Please, Will," he murmurs, for he knows this is what Will wants to hear. Will's eyes flash, darken, and he sucks in a breath, lets it out in a warm exhale over Hannibal's sensitive flesh. "Please, take it off."

"Mm." Will smiles, lowers his head and licks the crease of Hannibal's thigh. Parts his jaws. Threatens teeth. Hannibal might go mad at the sight. "That isn't very convincing, Doctor Lecter."

Hannibal snarls, tugs his hand rudely through Will's hair until his lashes flutter. "Will," he says, as firmly as he can manage, though his voice shakes, and his breathing is unsteady. "Please," he breathes. "Take the cage off. Let me make you feel good."

Will smiles. "Better," he murmurs, soft and pleased. He straightens up with one last kiss to Hannibal's hip, works his fingers free from Hannibal's and takes the keys in hand. "We'll work on it."

Hannibal's exhale is, he'll admit, relieved beyond measure. He's tense with anticipation as Will finds the first key and fits it into the lock holding the cock ring in place. He undoes it, letting the open lock hang off the teeth of the key, and unsnaps the ring, setting it to one side. Then, he puts the second key in and undoes the second lock, gently easing the cage off of Hannibal's cock with soft touches. The slick from his mouth makes it easy to remove and once it's off, Hannibal moans, filling immediately until his cock turns a deep, deep red.

Will sets the cage and keyring to one side, breathes out and wets his fingers with lubricant. His touch, when it returns, is slick and warm and Hannibal shudders, arching up into the weight of Will across his thighs. It's a gentle, maddening touch, and Hannibal sits up, cups Will's jaw and kisses him deeply as Will sighs, arches against him, wraps his fingers in a tight ring around the base of Hannibal's cock.

"Are you ready, darling?" Hannibal asks. The stretch job he did was rushed, and cut off prematurely, and it's been a while for Will.

Will pulls back from him, sinks his teeth into his lower lip, swallows, and nods. His eyes flash to one side and he clears his throat, lifts his chin. Hannibal follows his eyes, finds the belt sitting on the bedside table, still.

He smiles, and kisses Will again. "On your hands and knees, Will," he commands. The mantle of control slides over him like water, as Will shivers and nods, pushing off him and settling into a perfect curve, elbows and knees, his hips lifted. He's half-hard already, cock slick with his seed, and wraps his fingers through his sweaty hair to push it out of his face, so he can see as Hannibal retrieves the belt.

Hannibal does, crawling into place behind Will. He settles on his heels, unable to resist the urge to wrap his fingers around his cock and stroke, just once. The desire in his spine is very insistent, telling him if he touches just once, just a little more, he can stop. _It'll feel so good, just a little more_. But he forces himself to resist. He's not entirely sure, once he's inside Will, that he will last more than a few thrusts. If the tease of Will around his fingers was any indication, Will is going to be tight, blister-hot, and Hannibal remembers how it had felt to be so overstimulated before.

His teeth itch.

He lets the belt drag over Will's back, up his spine in a tease of leather. Will shivers, turns his head to show Hannibal the flush on his cheek, the just-there show of teeth. He smiles, leans down, ruts against Will's ass and cups the belt under his neck, pulling it tight.

Will trembles, breath hitching, and Hannibal kisses his still-exposed nape. "Good?" he murmurs.

Will nods, eagerly. Licks his lips and whines; "Please. I want it."

And Hannibal has never denied Will something he wants.

He threads the end through the buckle, pulling it until there is just enough room around Will's neck for him to put a finger, to allow Will to breathe and move his neck without being suffocated. "You may find it more difficult to speak, with this on," Hannibal tells him. "If you need a moment, or need it to come off, I'll be holding the end. Just tug on it and I'll stop."

Will nods, patient and steady. His shoulders roll as Hannibal cinches it tight, then threads the end through the loop around his neck so that, if he should pull too hard, it will not lose its place and cut off Will's air completely. Hannibal has a brief flash, an image of seeing Will in a collar, of leading him with a finger through a loop in it, and his stomach goes very, very tense.

He growls, leans down and kisses Will's shoulder, wraps his fist through the end and gives an experimental tug. Will hisses, moaning sharply, his eyes closing as he lets the sensation of being choked wash down his spine. It tightens his fingers in the sheets, makes his shoulders move in a sharp jolt, makes his thighs shake.

Makes his voice, when he speaks, thready with need; "Please, Hannibal. Fuck me."

Hannibal snarls. He should, in fairness to himself and to Will, stretch him out more, take his time working Will more open. But Will is rutting back against him frantically, every inch of him dedicated to expressing his need, and even if Hannibal can't make good on their bargain, he knows there will be other times to earn his reward.

But he hasn't seen Will in days, hasn't been inside him for longer. He is impatient. Will makes him this way.

He tugs on the belt again, just to hear Will whine, and rears back, fisting his cock in a tight grip. He presses against Will's slick hole, snarling low and shuddering as he starts to push inside.

Will is tight, and hot, slick enough that the going is easy though his tense body protests Hannibal at first. But then, Will exhales, and Hannibal slackens the belt, and he manages to push in the rest of the way. It is such an overwhelming, overpowering onslaught of sensation that it almost helps – Hannibal is too overstimulated to come immediately, lost in the tight, desperate clench of Will's body around him, swept away on the tides of Will's whimper and the needy roll of his hips.

He collapses over Will, for a moment too out of it to move. Will bears his weight well, trembling, one hand underneath him and stroking his own cock quickly. Hannibal growls, edges his teeth along Will's shoulder, tugs on the belt until he moans, weakly.

"Hannibal, _please_ ," he gasps, barely-there. "Please, please move. I'm gonna lose my fucking mind if you don't move."

Hannibal shivers, Will's body giving an answering clench. He flattens his hand on Will's shoulder, forces his chest to the bed. The angle allows him to mimic thrusting by rolling his hips, forcing himself to have time to calm the rush of his pulse, the race of his heart and the red-hot, pounding need behind his eyes. He focuses instead on Will's breathing, on watching as he tenses as the belt goes tight, slackens when it does. Watches Will's back shine with sweat, strong muscles rolling for both accommodation and an eager plea for more.

Watches his cock sink into Will, red flesh amidst pale skin. His fingers curl against Will's back and he thrusts, once, in earnest, and Will sobs as Hannibal hits his prostate, making him tighten and tremble underneath Hannibal.

Will's breathing is now very heavy, bordering on hyperventilation. But he doesn't reach back, doesn't make a grab for the tail of the belt. Hannibal growls, closing his eyes, and thrusts again, moaning as Will tightens for him, spasming uncoordinated and uncontrolled. Moans, weak and high. So sweet, his Will.

He leans over Will, mounting him in earnest, as his thrusts gather speed and force. Will is shaking for him, his breaths high and meek behind the belt. Hannibal wants to put it between his teeth, wants to pull and tease at him until he shakes apart, but he won't last much longer. Can't, now that he can see how much Will wants it. See how much he needs it.

"Will," he growls, his teeth to Will's ear, fist tugging at the belt. Will lifts his head, rests it against Hannibal's shoulder, bares what part of his throat he can and moans, free hand stretching out in front of him so he can push back into Hannibal's thrusts.

"Do it," he whispers.

Hannibal bares his teeth, plants them at Will's shoulder. "I will," he promises, vows. He drags his nails down Will's flank, holds him by the hip, tugs on the belt just to hear Will gasp. "My sweet boy, you want my come? Want me to fill you up?"

" _God_ , _yes_ ," Will replies, aching, so _warm_ -. "Please. _Please_. Come in me. Fuckin', just, _Hannibal -_."

Hannibal snarls, incensed, hands shaking. He lets go of the belt, fearing he might pull too hard and too long if he's allowed to keep it. It falls down Will's side, catches on his arm which is still working mercilessly over his own cock, getting him closer to the edge.

Hannibal's hands tighten, nails digging in. "There's going to be so much," he whispers, half to himself.

Will whimpers, spasming in want, turns his head and opens his eyes, and they're wet, shining. He wants it so much he's wet for it, eyes, mouth, the sweat on his spine, the slick tightness of his ass.

"I want it," he snarls. "I want all of it. _Give it to me_."

Hannibal can't take it anymore. Frankly, he's amazed he made it this long. He slows, jerking his hips so that he's pressed as tight to Will as he can be. Digs his nails in until there will be bruises there, later, undoubtedly. He'll kiss them, later, bring Will to orgasm just with his hands and mouth, soothing all the aches he placed as Will trembles for him.

He closes his eyes, rests his forehead against the knot of the belt, clenches his jaw. His orgasm almost hurts, so sharp and strong, racing down his spine in fissures of electric heat, curling in his gut, exploding outward. Will's body bears down, strung out by the knowledge that Hannibal is going to fill him with over a week's worth of release. Hannibal's come pools hotly around the head of his cock, and he can't resist thrusting again, dragging out each eddy and spike of pleasure as he empties himself inside of Will.

It feels like it lasts for a lifetime, marked only by breath, by the rush of his heart so fast it feels like thrumming. Then, Will jerks, whimpering as he comes into his own hand, clenches and tightens and Hannibal growls, fucking in again, fucking through the mess he left. It's so warm, and slick, it's maddening, it aches somewhere between Hannibal's chest and his cock, something sharp and rolling like the aftershock of a bomb.

Will is whining when Hannibal returns to himself, his breathing so heavy, so shaken. His fingers are clenching in the sheets – both hands, one steaked with his release, one dry and white-knuckled. Hannibal soothes the press of his nails, slides them up to Will's waist as he forces Will to remain still, and he pulls out in a quick motion, hissing when his cock sends a sharp jolt of overstimulated sensation up his spine.

Will wants to collapse, he can see it, but he forces Will to remain upright, forces his shaking thighs to bear his weight and Hannibal spreads him, leans in and nuzzles the divots at the base of Will's spine. Will's spasming body clenches, pink flesh forcing out a thick line of Hannibal's come.

Hannibal grins, seeing it, smelling it, He scoops it up onto his thumb and works it back inside, tutting in mock disappointment.

"I think I gave you too much, darling," he murmurs, noting with pleasure how Will lets out a weak sound at his voice; "You can't keep it all in."

Will groans, lifting his head and swiping his clean hand through his hair. He turns, meets Hannibal's eyes, huffs a laugh both satisfied and playful. "Keep talking like that and there's going to be a round three," he mutters.

Hannibal raises his eyebrows, eyes dropping. His cock is still very dark, but softening. He's sure he could manage another round, however, if Will needed it. His orgasm was powerful, but satisfying in the same way a heavy meal is;

After a while, the body gets used to that fullness, and becomes hungry sooner.

Will settles onto his belly with a sigh when Hannibal releases him, and Hannibal straddles his thighs, gently undoing the belt and pulling it free of Will's neck. He gets off, then, and they both roll onto their sides, facing each other, and Hannibal pulls the blankets up around them. He will have to get up and turn off the light, eventually, but he's heavy with satisfaction and doesn't want to move right now. Much like Will is after they have sex.

Will slithers close to him, kisses him lax and chaste. Then, he shivers, biting his lower lip, eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure. "I can feel it," he confesses, whisper-soft. Reaches behind himself and trembles again, and his fingers come back slick. "Fuck, that was…so satisfying."

Hannibal smiles, purring inwardly that he managed to please Will so completely. He pulls Will into another kiss, seeking touch. His hands ache for Will's skin, his lips for Will's, his body wants the solid weight of his lover beside him.

Will sighs for him, slick hand cupping Hannibal's neck. He stinks of sweat, of sex, of visceral satisfaction. Hannibal likes him like this – he likes Will at all times, but there's something very pleasing about this sated version of Will, who purrs and smiles like a sunning cat.

Will pulls back, sighing. His neck is red from Hannibal's hand, from the belt. There may be bruises there, still-forming, and Hannibal lets out a soft sound of concern, thumbing the edges of one mark. He may have pulled too hard and Will, lost to his own pleasure, couldn't react.

Will catches his hand, smiles, and pulls it up to kiss his palm. "I'm alright," he says, hoarse and low. "You didn't hurt me."

Hannibal nods, pressing his lips together. He leans in, kissing the edges of the belt, and Will shivers, pressing closer.

"So," Will says, and the considering light has returned to his dark eyes, making them shine. Hannibal thinks it supremely unfair that Will is so vocal and put-together, while Hannibal still feels like he's recovering. He might never come down from this high, and isn't that such a sweet thought?

"What's this thing with my mouth?"

Hannibal huffs, smiling, and pushes his hair from his face. "It's less about your actual mouth than…the rest of it," he admits. "Though I will confess I have thought about it. Often."

Will flushes, grinning wide. "So, what's the rest of it?" he asks. He's much more alert than he usually is, burning with curiosity.

"You want to have this conversation now?" Hannibal asks, terribly amused. "You're normally not this…talkative."

Will huffs. "You're avoiding the question," he says. He doesn't sound upset, more invigorated, his eyes brightening from their aroused black, sharp on Hannibal's face. "Means you really want it. Is it that bad?"

His fingers are gentle around Hannibal's wrist, coaxing. Strange – Hannibal never considered himself a coward, but even as Will speaks it, he realizes he has been comparatively passive in this new dynamic of theirs. Still so cautious, still wary of scaring Will away, of trying to pressure him into something he doesn't want.

He sighs, smiling sheepishly. "Shrewd as always," he murmurs. Will's eyes narrow in playful agitation, and he turns his head, biting at Hannibal's wrist – a swift nip that makes his fingers curl, his breath catch.

"Answer me," Will says. "I mean, we've been talking about all kinds of stuff. I'm literally going to let you hunt me down like an animal when we go to the cabin. And we both know if either of us didn't want to do that, we'd say so."

His eyes are sharp, assessing. Hannibal cannot imagine what Will is thinking of, what he might think Hannibal wants. It does seem somewhat tame, he'll admit – but he does want it. He wants it very badly.

Hannibal smiles, meets Will's eyes, says; "Forgive me." Then, he licks his lips, and continues; "I want you on your knees, somewhere that is not this room. My study, or the dining room, perhaps. And I want to…feed you." His fingers curl under Will's jaw, thumbing his five o'clock shadow. Will swallows at the touch. "From my hand, ideally. And then I want you to use your mouth on me, for as long as I desire. Until I can't ignore it any longer."

Will's eyes are growing dark again, intrigued. Where Hannibal is touching him, he can feel Will's heart jump.

Encouraged, Hannibal finishes; "Ideally, you would be so desperate that you'd become aroused yourself, and need to seek relief against my leg. I…am not sure, yet, if I'd let you." Let him rut? Of course. Let him come? Hannibal is still undecided on that matter.

Will's head tilts, exposing more of his neck, and he lets out a soft, thoughtful hum. "This is a control thing," he murmurs, and it's not a question. "Getting me so worked up that I rut like an animal against your leg."

"We might incorporate the belt," Hannibal says mildly. "Now that I know how much you like that." Will's eyes flash, and he swallows, touching his own neck. "I understand it seems a very one-sided fantasy, and I'll admit the motivations for it are…blurred, for me."

"It sounds like an intoxicating level of control," Will murmurs.

Hannibal smiles, thinking to their pre-dinner conversation with Alana. "And, if applied correctly, I believe we would both enjoy it."

Will hums again, smiling faintly. "I've never done anything like that," he admits, and Hannibal nods, for he expected as much. "I don't have a problem with using my mouth on you. But…doing it outside this room…" He pauses, presses his lips together. "I don't know about the rest of it. I'll have to think about it."

"Of course, darling," Hannibal says, and brings Will in for a kiss. He wants Will to understand that it is his decision, after all. Hannibal would never force him to do anything he didn't want to do. "Whatever you decide. I love you, and your happiness and comfort are paramount to me."

Will's smile softens, lax and sweet after the kiss. He runs his hand down Hannibal's arm, settles on his flank and sighs, curling closer, ducking his head to rest on the usual place under Hannibal's chin.

Hannibal smiles, wrapping his arms around Will's shoulders in a brief hug, before he rises to turn off the lights.

He hesitates by the door. "Darling, do you want to put the cage back on, before we go to sleep?"

Will laughs, and shakes his head. Hannibal turns off the light and goes to him, finding his normal place in Will's arms. "No. You can leave it off for now. I want to test another theory."

"Oh?" Hannibal asks, smiling into Will's hair.

Will nods, humming. "I want to see if I'm still slick enough in the morning."

 

 

He is. Hannibal wakes to Will's kiss, to his soft moan and erection pressing insistently against Hannibal's thigh. Hannibal uses his fingers to work Will open, finds him tight but still very wet, his come stained and dried on Will's thighs, but still enough there that, after much coaxing and promises from Will to tell him if he needs more lubricant, Hannibal rolls him onto his stomach, fucks him deep and slow with his nails in Will's wrists and a snarl in Will's ear that if he wants to come, he will do it against the sheets and nothing else.

He tells himself it's making up for lost time, working Will through another round that gives him nothing more than the unsatisfying press of the mattress and Hannibal's cock against his prostate, but really, there is something very satisfying in the way Will begs for him, cries out and moans Hannibal's name as Hannibal fills him up again. Begs and pleads until Hannibal relents, teeth in his neck, and wraps a hand under Will's stomach to stroke his cock until he comes with a sob over Hannibal's fingers.

 

 

The cabin is quite lovely, and wonderfully remote. Will is a mess of energy in the passenger seat of the car as they leave the main road, follow one-lane roads that turn to dirt and gravel, barely better than deer paths. There is a letterbox marking the entrance to the driveway, and though the road is paved here, the trees grow close and brush the side mirrors and the flanks of the car as they drive up to the cabin.

Not knowing quite the level of comfort to expect, they packed sleeping bags, roll-out mats, and a pile of bedsheets to accommodate sleeping on potentially hard, barren beds. Hannibal packed food, both in coolers and fresh, for them both. They brought a minimal amount of clothes, understanding that most of their time, except for the obvious, would be inside.

Hannibal shivers, fingers clenching on the wheel, as he remembers the hunting knife Will had given him – a sharp, serrated blade in a leather sheath. It sits at the top of his suitcase.

"Keep it sheathed," Will had said. "But use it as liberally as you like."

The cabin itself is a single-room style affair, made of logs and a thatched roof. It looks very quaint and homey, in Hannibal's opinion. He sees a chimney and hums, hoping that there is enough wood for them to use already available. The nights will get cold out here.

They park the car and head inside. There is, to Hannibal's relief, a Queen-sized bed, already made, that looks fairly welcoming. There are two chairs and a table by a wood-burning stove, and a small kitchenette area, with a fridge. He places the perishable items inside it as Will lays out their suitcases on the end of the bed.

He smiles, taking Will's hand. "Shall we check the forest?"

Will nods, grinning wide, excited. Hannibal is wearing the cage, now – Will had put it on him before they began their drive, promising that he would take it off when it pleased him and not a second sooner. It's been two days since Hannibal last had it off, and he finds that his theory has proven true; with Will in immediate proximity, the low thrum of arousal is almost constant, and the cage feels much more restrictive than the first time he wore it.

They head out. There are pathways and tall trees all around, though thankfully the ground itself is somewhat barefoot-friendly, and Will takes the knife with him, tucked into his pocket. They walk for a while until Will, driven by some instinct Hannibal doesn't see, stops and marks a tree with a thick 'X' through the bark with the knife.

They continue walking, and he does it a few more times until Hannibal understands;

"This is the perimeter?"

Will nods. "A half-mile around the cabin," he murmurs in explanation, tucking the knife back into his pocket after marking another tree. Hannibal nods, taking his hand again, and they keep walking until they manage to circle back to the first tree. Then, Will carves two parallel lines, an 'equals' sign below the 'X'. He starts back towards the cabin, marking the other trees in similar ways along the path as he goes. "This is the way home, if either of us get lost."

"You've put a lot of thought into this," Hannibal says, impressed.

Will smiles at him, pleased. "There is, unfortunately, a lot of potential for error in a situation like this," he says. "I'm trying to eliminate that error as much as possible." Hannibal nods, accepting that. Will sucks in a breath, his fingers tightening between Hannibal's as the cabin comes back into view. The air is getting cold as nightfall approaches, and Hannibal knows that they will not be doing this hunt tonight.

"It will be warmest past midday," he says, as they return to the cabin and shed their coats.

Will smiles at him.

"You should definitely be wearing shoes, at least," Hannibal adds mildly, picking absently at a stray twig that founds its way into his hair. He discards it, and goes to the wood burning stove. There are several logs stacked beside it, already cut, and he crouches down and places a small bundle of kindling in the stove. Will comes up behind him, opening the ventilation hatch, and hands Hannibal the long lighter. The kindling lights quickly, creating a warm, tiny flame, and after a while Hannibal can add two of the logs. They catch, fire licking up the sides with sharp, happy crackles, and soon the air is pleasantly warm.

He stands, kisses Will, and then leads him to the fridge. Aware of the potential lack of anything to cook with, he'd brought some pre-packaged meals that could be hot or cold. He takes out cold cuts and cheese, laying them out on the table, as well as a bottle of wine and glasses he brought from home.

Will sits, waiting as the wine is poured. As the night darkens the sky outside, the fire becomes the only source of light, and paints Will in wild shadows, gold and black in equal measure. His eyes are dark. He looks comfortable in this setting, as comfortable he might be in Hannibal's own house.

Hannibal kisses him again, before he takes his seat. "What are you thinking about, my love?"

"Several things," Will replies, voice low, and takes a sip of wine. "I'm…. I think I'm just overwhelmed."

"How so?"

"I never thought I'd be able to do something like this," he murmurs. The shadows on his neck compliment the bruises, the subtle lines from the edges of his belt, the bite marks Hannibal has placed on him since their reunion. "Like, at all. And that's not even talking about _this_ , per se. I mean…" He gestures vaguely. "All of it. I meant what I said – with you, I'm learning a lot more about myself. Stuff I never would have even considered before."

Hannibal smiles. "I'm moved by your trust in me."

Will hums. "Makes me wonder if there's other stuff I like, and I just don't know it yet."

"Such as?"

Will's fingers flex, and he bites his lower lip, eyes dropping to the wine. "I like pain," he murmurs, and Hannibal nods. That was a delightful discovery all its own. "There's…places to go from there. But I'm wary."

"Understandably so," Hannibal says with a nod, sipping his wine. "You have seen, in sharp and stark clarity, just how savage human beings can be to each other. How much damage they can do." Will nods, swallowing harshly. "But as you said before, there is a correct application for almost anything. And, with open communication and safe measures taken, I see no reason we cannot experiment."

Will licks his lips. "You make stuff sound so clinical, sometimes," he murmurs. Hannibal blinks, and opens his mouth to apologize, but Will raises his hand. "I like it. I mean, I appreciate it. I find it soothing, knowing that when I'm less controlled, you're there to make sure nothing bad happens."

Again, Will's trust in him is like a touch, settles Hannibal's stomach and makes him smile.

"I've always been so wary, so _repressed_ ," Will says, hissing the word, and lifts his eyes to meet Hannibal's. "Being with you is… _freeing_. And I guess I just -." He blushes, shifting his weight. "I just want you to know how much I appreciate that. How much I appreciate you."

Hannibal sits forward, takes Will's free hand in a gentle grip. "Thank you, Will," he murmurs, and Will shivers. "Knowing how much you trust me, how willing and open you are to trying things with me, it means a lot to me." He smiles. "You make me very happy, darling."

Will smiles, off-kilter, cheeks dimpling. "You too," he says, soft and loving. He takes another drink of wine, finishing the glass, and his fingers flex between Hannibal's, tighten.

"I've been thinking about what you said," he says, and Hannibal tilts his head to one side. "The…. That fantasy of yours. With me on my knees. I think I figured out what made me so hesitant about it."

"Yes?" Hannibal whispers.

"I think it was more of that boundary issue. Doing stuff outside of your bedroom is…uncomfortable to me. Creates thresholds where there's an implied imbalance." Will huffs, smiling faintly. "I know you love and respect me, just as I love and respect you, and I know when you suggested it, it wasn't about making me weaker, or lesser than you. But I can't shake that mindset."

"Understandable," Hannibal says, brushing his thumb along Will's knuckles. "And we don't have to do that at all, if you don't want it. I mean that."

"But…I do want to try," Will says. His eyes flash up, meet Hannibal's, then drop back down to their laced hands. "And here, in this place, there aren't those boundaries. There aren't those thresholds. So I…"

He stops, clears his throat, pulls his hand away and runs it through his hair.

Then, he stands, and fishes the cage keys out of his pocket. Hannibal regards him, not wanting to move, to startle him, and Will sucks in another breath, presses his lips together, and sinks to his knees.

Hannibal's breath catches, his eyes widening as Will meets his gaze. He smiles, presses his hands between Hannibal's knees and spreads them. Tugs at the hem of Hannibal's suit pants. "Take these off," he murmurs.

Hannibal shivers, sets his wine down and hastens to obey. He lifts his hips up from the chair, undoing the button and zip of his pants and pushing them down with his underwear to his knees. Will takes over from there, lets them pool at his ankles.

He slides closer, gentle with the keys as he undoes the padlocks and eases the cage off, then the cock ring, and sets them on the table. Then, he pulls one leg free and gives himself room to kneel between Hannibal's thighs, shoulder tucked under one of them. Hannibal's hand immediately goes to his hair, twisting gently in his lovely, thick curls.

Will huffs, exhale warm on Hannibal's stiffening cock. He licks his lips, parts them, turns his head to rub his cheek on Hannibal's inner thigh, scruff brushing in a brief burn on the tender skin. Hannibal growls at the motion, tightens his hand in Will's hair and sits forward, bringing him up for a kiss.

"Do you want me to feed you?" he asks.

Will shivers, eyes dark. His blush is high on his cheeks – it's clear he's embarrassed at being in such a position. But he nods. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Will it – will that work?"

Hannibal nods, smiling. Meat and cheese isn't what he had in mind – he would much rather feed Will sweet things – but he will surely not let this opportunity pass even when it's so suddenly given to him. He sits back, tears a small bite-sized piece of cheddar free, and offers it to Will.

Will takes it, blushing, eyes lowered. The flash of his teeth and the curl of his pink lips is captivating, as he chews and swallows the piece of cheese quickly. Hannibal is quick to feed him another – meat, this time, a longer strip that he rolls. He offers it to Will, who leans in, but Hannibal smiles, head tilted, and pulls back. Forces Will to lean into the push of his thighs, forces his tongue to snake out, catch it, and when he does, Hannibal turns his thumb, presses it to Will's lower lip as he closes his mouth and chews.

Will's eyes lift, and some shred of understanding, of knowledge, passes behind them. His lips part on an unsteady exhale, and his hands flatten where they are around Hannibal's ankles, and curl, nails digging in.

He breathes out. "Oh," he murmurs.

Hannibal smiles, takes in a shallow breath. He runs his hand through Will's hair, down his neck to feel how he swallows the meat down, does it again when he offers Will another piece. Will's eyes are wide, heavy on Hannibal's face, and when he swallows again, he licks his lips, chasing the taste of Hannibal's thumb, and so Hannibal gives it to him again, and his cock twitches when Will's lips part and he sucks at the pad of his thumb, tilts his head to let his saliva-slick lips brush over it.

"It's a sensual thing, providing someone nourishment," Hannibal murmurs, unwilling to break the spell of Will's eyes on him, of his neck moving under Hannibal's hand. "I'll admit I was overjoyed, the first time you let me cook for you, the first time I sated your hunger."

Will nods, once, slowly. He kisses the saddle of Hannibal's fingers and his lashes flutter, eyes closing in a slow blink. He can see it settle over Will, see the weight of his understanding, his empathy, weigh him down, loosen his neck and his jaw.

He raises his eyes, offers a small smile when Hannibal feeds him another piece of meat. This time, he presses his cheek to Hannibal's cock as he chews, the motion of his jaw and the tease of his mouth, while not stimulating in terms of physical sensation, is absolutely ruinous to Hannibal's eyes.

He presses his thumb to Will's lips again, lets them part. Then, between his teeth, until he can feel Will's tongue. Will closes his eyes, blush-heavy and lax, sucks lightly at Hannibal's thumb, cheeks hollowing.

When Hannibal pulls away, Will's breathing is ragged. One of his hands leaves Hannibal's ankle and Hannibal watches him shift to his heels, pressing down on the bulge of his cock beneath his jeans.

"I think I get it," Will breathes, and huffs a sheepish laugh. "Or maybe I've gotten to the point where everything you do turns me on."

Hannibal laughs, cups Will's face and draws him up for a kiss. Will leans into it, drags his hand up Hannibal's leg to settle on his knee, and he slides back to the floor, and looks ravenous. "That's enough," Hannibal growls, and Will shivers, biting his lower lip. His eyes drop to Hannibal's cock, and he breathes out, nodding again.

He leans down, nuzzles Hannibal's thigh, turns his head to catch Hannibal's shaft with his tongue. Hannibal growls, slouching in the seat, and his hands go to Will's hair.

Will stops, eyes flying open, and he shakes his head, takes Hannibal's hands and plants them on either side of him. The chair has no armrests. He forces Hannibal's fingers to curl, and gives him a charming, wolfish smile. "No touching," he says. "Let me figure it out on my own."

Hannibal's stomach clenches, and he nods.

Will smiles, and he puts one hand in a tight ring around the base of Hannibal's cock, and licks around the head in a kittenish, teasing move. Hums at the taste of precum at the tip, meets Hannibal's eyes. "The rules still apply, you know," he says lowly. "You don't get to come in my mouth. You're gonna fuck me."

Hannibal's upper lip twitches in a growl, he rolls his shoulders, rolls his hips, and nods.

Will smiles again. "Good," he purrs, and opens his mouth, sucking the head of Hannibal's cock between his lips. He sinks down, the rough of the roof of his mouth a maddening, incensing source of friction, the press of his tongue to the underside warm and wet. Hannibal sighs, tilting his head back, letting Will get used to the intrusion in his mouth. Feels him suck, cheeks going hollow. Feels his free hand flatten on Hannibal's hip to prevent unwanted thrusting.

Will sighs through his nose, warm on Hannibal's exposed stomach, and he turns his head, sucking harshly and tonguing the head as he pulls back, lets cool air rush in where his mouth was. He sinks down again, and the way he's doing it, Hannibal knows his jaw will be sore before long. Will is inexperienced at this, but eager, and lets saliva drip down from his mouth to his fingers, lets them grow wet and tighten, stroking what he can't swallow.

The back of his throat spasms and he growls, almost to himself, in reprimand. Pulls back, swallows, sinks down again. Hannibal opens his eyes, wanting to watch. His nails dig into the wooden chair until it creaks in protest, and he wants to pull Will in, closer, wants to fuck _deeper_ , but forces himself to behave.

He lets out a soft sound of encouragement, not wanting Will to stop. Will is a vocal creature, but reacts in his own way to the sounds he can wring from Hannibal. The constant thrum of arousal he feels in Will's presence is sharp, now, growing teeth, growing nails. He wants to tug at Will's hair, hold him still while he uses Will's mouth. He wants, he _wants_ -.

Will pulls back and Hannibal growls. His lips are red, bruised, and he licks them, swallows, and returns to Hannibal's cock after a moment of recovery. His hand moves from Hannibal's hip, to his own cock, squeezing tightly as he sucks at the tip, licks through the slit again, swallows what saliva he doesn't let run down. It's messy, filthy, the sounds of his mouth obscene in the otherwise quiet room.

Then, Will sucks in a breath through his nose, loosens his fingers and rises to his heels, sinking his mouth down further. Past his spasming throat muscles, until his nose brushes Hannibal's stomach. Hannibal groans in pleasure, a soft 'Will' falling, ragged, from his mouth. Will pulls back almost immediately, coughing and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Stop, darling," Hannibal growls, letting go of the chair and pulling Will upwards, into his lap. Will shivers, wincing when his clothed erection grinds against Hannibal's stomach. Hannibal kisses him, drinks Will's shuddering breath, the sweet slick in his mouth, the moan he lets loose as Hannibal cups his cock and squeezes.

He clears his throat, stretches his jaw. "I can keep going."

Hannibal smiles. "Not if you want me to behave, my love," he purrs. He cups Will's thighs, ruts between them, and Will whines, panting, their foreheads touching. "Let me take you to bed."

Will smiles, pleased and fine in his arms. He nods, and kisses Hannibal again. "If you insist," he says, playful, his voice rough, and Hannibal's stomach clenches, as he knows why. Will clears his throat again, kisses Hannibal again, and pushes himself to his feet.

Hannibal kicks his pants and underwear off, stands and sheds his shirt as Will undresses as well. Guides him to the bed, onto his back, and fishes out the bottle of lubricant from his suitcase as Will spreads his legs, always so-welcoming.

Tomorrow, they will hunt. But tonight, painted in firelight and with Will so eager beneath him, Hannibal cannot imagine seeing him any more wild, any sweeter. He's ravenous with the desire to find out if it's possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please yell at and pet me I'm so tired and starting my new job monday which means my ability to stay up until 3am writing this stuff is about to disappear, but luckily in the words of my new boss 'you have like two hours of work a day and can do whatever you want the rest of the time' so!! maybe more writing will happen
> 
> hope you guys liked it, we'll get a hunt next chapter <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey HEY hey! Sorry for the wait - have a hunt! also what are refractory periods? superhuman if you're these guys /shrug.  
> I mentioned on tumblr.......this chapter fucked with me, fam, in the best way. Hannibal yeeted himself into my mindspace and just went crazy and I love him for it but DANG was it exhausting. but this chapter is done and I'm really happy with it, I hope you guys like it even half as much ;D  
> There are new tags, please take note!

Hannibal wakes, to cold air brushing tenderly along his exposed arms, his neck. He shivers, drawing the blankets up around his shoulders, as each shred of awareness wakes and makes itself known to him. He absorbs that he is alone in his bed, though the space where Will sleeps is still warm. Before he opens his eyes, before he can feel curious and full of the need to find him, his ears pick up the sound of a shower as it squeaks to 'off', the leftover drips of a leaky faucet, the hum of a fan, chittering and hoarse.

 _Will is here_ , his senses soothe him, calling him back to sleep. He sighs, rubbing his nose into the crook of his elbow, smiles as the scents of Will fill his nose, his mouth. He may have showered now, but the bed clings to his lingering dirtiness – seed, lubricant, sweat. The delicate smear of his come, now dried beneath Hannibal's knee as he rolls, spreads out, settles into Will's space. Presses his cheek to the pillow and takes in the scent of Will's shampoo, the way sweat sharpens his smell here. Thinks he can pick up the slight wetness where Will drooled, or bit the blankets as Hannibal fucked him the night before.

He shivers again, this time not with cold, but with heat. Remembers Will, wild-eyed and painted in golden shadows, how he'd arched and clawed and snarled at Hannibal. His legs, spreading, strong thighs caught under Hannibal's hands as Hannibal brought Will to orgasm with fingers inside him and Hannibal's mouth sucked dark marks to his thighs, to his stomach. Will is eager, now, eager for his bite, ravenous for his teeth. Hannibal wants to cover him in marks, scratch and pick at him until he breaks and shatters. He wants Will, in all his fierceness, all his savagery, just as much as he loves him gentle, and sweet. God, what a dichotomy is Will, to conjure such strong, equal and yet opposite feelings of rudeness and adoration, of desecration and love.

He had kept touching Will, touching him inside, touching his cock, until Will had cried. Hannibal smiles, turns his head, smells salt. Tears of pain, he's found, smell different than tears of joy – they are, chemically, different, and he can smell it. He loves the scent of pain on Will, is full of shaken gratitude to whatever fate, destiny, or design that brought them together – because Will likes pain, and Hannibal loves him.

Then, he'd moved from Will, when he was hard again, aching and red from cheeks to cock. Had brought Will to his knees, turned him to his elbows, marked up his back with teeth and claws and told Will to touch himself, that Hannibal wouldn't fuck him until Will came again. And his Will – his sweet, obedient, desperate Will – had obeyed, only when Hannibal's hands found his neck and squeezed, gently, but without hesitation, without reservation now.

Hannibal hums, slides his cool hand along the sheets under their blankets, finds the stain Will left behind, that second time. Smiles, and opens his eyes as he hears the door to the bathroom open. Will emerges, glistening like a water nymph, his hair dark and fluffing at the ends, flat but pushed back to resemble a disarrayed mess. His cheeks are flushed with humidity and heat, and it makes his smile seem sharper, white and red cutting into delicate pink. His neck is marked, with belts and hands and teeth. His chest, red-lined, a cross-stitch of desire Hannibal wants to follow with his mouth. He wears no towel, having left it in the bathroom, and so his entire body is exposed, the smooth plane of his chest which bears a smattering of suck-kisses, his thighs which are purpled and dark in places from Hannibal's bite.

Hannibal gives him an appreciative once-over – for he is beautiful, God is he beautiful – and then goes still, when he sees Will's eyes. They're dark, ocean-deep, and there is something in them, something prowling and wild that looks at Hannibal like it might attack. Will's fingers curl at his sides when their eyes meet, he rolls his shoulders and lets out a shaky breath.

Coughs, ragged, like he doesn't remember how to speak; "Hey."

Hannibal sits up, lets the blankets fall to his waist, exposing his chest. He is not without marks – Will's nails are sharp and determined, and he feels the burn of red lines on either side of his spine, faint furrows where Will curled and dug in around his hips. Will's eyes rake him up and down again, his jaws part. He licks his lips.

Even before the new dynamic, the new truths between them, Hannibal made it his mission to learn Will, with all his silent cues and all his hints and wants. Learned to know when his lashes lowered, his head tilted, learned the hitch in his breath that meant he was turned on, grew intimately familiar with his whines, his whimpers, the way his fingers could flex and communicate a whole sentence within them. After all, with his own desires so rigorously held in check, and Will so inexperienced with men, it would have been terrible of him to not pay attention, to rely on spoken warnings and cues when Will's eyes already said so much.

So he knows Will. Knows the upward tic of his mouth, the darkness in his gaze. Knows the roughness of his exhale and the slight, barely-there tremble of his hands.

He tilts his head, and Will's eyes snap to him, wide, very dark. Will is shivering, skin pebbling with cold, and Hannibal slowly pulls the blankets back, exposing a small slip of the warm mattress.

"Come here, darling," he says, and holds out his hand.

Will sags, staggers, lets out a sound both unsure and relieved, and comes to the bed. He puts his cheek in Hannibal's palm, lets Hannibal cover him with the blankets and settles down in a knotted mess of limbs and sheets, his head pillowed on Hannibal's shoulder, their arms touching, Hannibal's arm wrapped in front of Will, around his chest, to his opposite shoulder and Will's legs curled up by his hip, feet dug under the pillows. Like this, Hannibal could easily twist him, pull him into his lap.

He curls his fingers through Will's wild hair, turns and lets Will nuzzle him, hears him give a sweet, shaky sigh. He smiles, and puts his nose to Will's hair, taking in a deep breath of him – clean, wild. Though they brought shampoo and body wash, Will didn't use any, and so there is just him; blood-sweet, tinted with lingering sweat, with sex, _Will_.

"You don't have to speak," Hannibal says, and Will swallows harshly, turning, forehead to Hannibal's shoulder. "Just nod if you can understand and acknowledge what I'm saying."

Will sucks in a breath, lets it out. Nods, once.

Hannibal smiles. "Good boy," he purrs. Will whimpers, clinging to him, knuckles wrapped in blankets and pressing harshly to Hannibal's bared skin. This is Will, at his sweetest and wildest yet. Hannibal pets through his hair, closes his eyes as Will lets out a soft, purring sound, something that tugs at Hannibal's chest, encourages him to press closer, to pull Will closer.

He resists. Barely. "Are you hungry?" he asks.

Will nods.

Hannibal smiles, and kisses his hair. "Alright, darling. Rest if you'd like. I'm going to get us something to eat."

He moves from the bed with monumental effort, his naked body protesting the loss of warmth, the loss of Will. He leaves Will in the blankets, makes it a few steps away before he stops, alerted by a whine. He turns, just in time to see Will stagger to his feet, blanket wrapped as a cloak around his shoulders, baring his thighs to Hannibal's ravenous gaze.

Will walks to him, presses flat to his back, puts his cheek on Hannibal's shoulder, his fingers around Hannibal's waist. Touch-starved.

Hannibal smiles, and reaches back to pet Will's wet hair. "Something simple, then."

The spread of cold cuts and cheeses from the night before are still there, and though Hannibal thinks the chill in the air has probably done less damage than they would otherwise have taken, they don't look appetizing. Will is going to need all the energy he can get today. He wraps them up swiftly and puts them in the fridge, knowing he will be able to smell, later, if they're still edible.

He looks within the fridge, Will still at his back, and considers. He has grapes, and an uncut pineapple. He has a roast chicken, and what could easily be turned into a salad. But he discards that idea – Will is in no state to even speak, let alone use a knife and fork. This mindset he's in is animal, and Hannibal will not jar him if he can avoid it.

Decided, he straightens, and turns to meet Will's eyes. Will blinks up at him, the same lax, adoring look he'd worn when he first put the cage on Hannibal. It still sits, gleaming on their table, untouched since the night before.

"Will you kneel for me?" Hannibal asks.

Will blinks, glacier-slow, his brow giving a momentary crease, before he looks away, bites his lower lip, and nods. His throat moves, bruised and marked and yet eager, as he swallows his mouthful of saliva.

Hannibal kisses his forehead, nudges his temple until Will purrs. "Go kneel for me, my sweet boy. Where you were last night."

Wil whimpers, eyes flashing to Hannibal for a brief moment, as though panicked, as though he cannot stand on his own without Hannibal there. Hannibal tilts his head – if Will protests again, he will go with him. Seeing Will like this is conjuring strong feelings – positive ones, but incredibly strong. A protectiveness Hannibal has seen latent during their relationship. Will is capable, he can and has fought a man, shot a man, knows enough hand-to-hand to defend himself; he's a hunter, a fisherman, a capable predator.

But this…

This is trust. This is vulnerability, openness, what Will had said before – Will knowing that Hannibal is calm enough, collected enough, to monitor and maintain the situation so that Will can let go and enjoy himself. Relinquished control, having it placed into Hannibal's hands – hands that he trusts. Hannibal's, whom he loves.

Will swallows, lowers his lashes, and gives another nod, moving slowly towards the chairs, the table. Hannibal watches, watches his strong shoulders roll in, curl. Watches his knees buckle, sag, as he falls gracefully to them. Watches him crawl the final inches, turning so he's facing Hannibal, and he curls the tips of his fingers over the seat of the chair, puts his cheek on top of them, and closes his eyes.

Adoration, love, desperate affection slam into Hannibal's chest at the sight. He releases a shaky breath, looking down and swallowing harshly. Tries to see past the heat in his eyes, tries to breathe past the rough pounding of his heart, his breathless lungs. It isn't even lust, it's something much fiercer and more faceted than that.

He grabs the grapes – fat and green and turgid to the touch – and tears off one section from the stem, placing it in a metal bowl for condensation to gather within. He takes out, as well, a cup and fills it with water, and carries both to the table. He sets them down, and bends, cradling Will by the hair, by the jaw. Will's head is heavy, his neck limp as a newborn, and he sighs, leaning into Hannibal's touch, leans back and moves his hands so Hannibal has room to sit.

He does, wincing at the feeling of the cold seat against his exposed skin. But Will slides close to him, whining and sweet, drapes the blanket around his shoulders and Hannibal's knees so that he gets some shred of warmth. Will's hands flatten, spread out, his cheek on Hannibal's knee. He sighs when Hannibal pets through his hair.

Hannibal tilts his head up, tries to meet Will's eyes – finds them glazed, glassy, unfocused. Wherever he is, it seems blissful. Hannibal smiles, and folds down to kiss Will's forehead, where his hair has fallen and made his skin clammy. Will leans into it, a fractured, soft moan spilling from him.

"My darling boy," Hannibal murmurs, planting the words with worshipful kisses to Will's forehead. Will's mouth twitches, trying to smile, too lax, and his lashes flutter, lower, as Hannibal brushes gentle knuckles down the sides of his face, until he can cup Will's jaw, turn him and tilt him until their eyes meet. Hannibal takes one hand away, smiling, and pulls a grape from the stem. He flattens his other hand on Will's neck, so he can feel when Will chews, when he swallows.

Will's lips part, and he accepts the grape with a soft, sweet sound. He chews, and Hannibal's mouth is dry, watching his lips close, his breath come out heavy from his nose. Watches him shiver, and swallow, throat flexing under Hannibal's hand.

Hannibal cannot help the way his body reacts – this is what he wanted, closer to it than he'd ever dared dream. Will, lax, and sweet, so trusting and loving in his hands, letting himself be fed, be taken care of, beautiful eyes glassy and dark. Hannibal swallows, tries to calm his racing heart and the first interested flush of blood to his cock.

He takes another grape, aching for distraction, and this time Will leans into the offering of food, tongue brushing Hannibal's fingertips in a teasing, coy kitten-lick, takes the grape between his teeth and sighs, achingly soft, so, so sweet and eager. Hannibal can't breathe, can barely see – wants to keep Will like this forever. If Will is static, silken heat and undisturbed water, Hannibal feels like a storm.

He touches Will's bruised neck, feels the warm, abused muscles flex and shiver beneath his hands, and feeds Will another grape. Will takes it, eats it, and then licks his lips, giving a complaining whine.

Hannibal smiles. "Water?" he asks.

Will blinks once, slow – _once for yes, twice for no_ – and tilts his head, puts his cheek over Hannibal's cock where it rests on his thigh. Not a deliberate motion, Hannibal senses, but simply because that is where he wants to rest. The side of his face is rough with day-old stubble, the softness of his cheek providing give, providing warmth. Hannibal trembles, and his fingers slide to Will's hair, tighten.

He pulls Will's head up and Will whimpers, trembling, gasping like Hannibal just threw him into a bath of ice water. Hannibal pauses, and steadies his hands, cups Will's face and bows to him so their foreheads touch.

"Will," he says, firm, yet gentle. Will's eyes open, grow shadowed. He looks at Hannibal as he did the night Hannibal took him to his study, laid him in front of the fireplace and bought him to orgasm with words of love. There is a tremble to him, a quality to the slip of his tongue between his lips that calls to Hannibal, and Hannibal brushes his thumbs over Will's damp cheeks, brings him to a kiss that tastes of the tart skin of the grapes, the sweet juice within. "I'm right here, darling. I'm sorry. Go back to the quiet."

Will swallows, reaching for Hannibal with a low whine. His hands flatten on Hannibal's thighs, warm and wide, and he digs his fingers in until Hannibal lets out a growl of his own. He kisses Will again, deeply, thirsting for the taste of him.

He pulls back when he feels Will settle, feels his heart calm. He makes sure he can see Will's eyes, see them clear, somewhat, grow focused like a cat who was peeking lazily between its lashes, but now sees movement, pupils dark and wide, body ready to lunge.

Will's eyes drop to his mouth, flash. And Hannibal knows what he wants.

He sits back, spreads his legs so Will can rise up, desperate, lips parted. Hannibal takes a drink of water, keeps his lips sealed, and sets the cup back down. He guides Will to him, turns his head so their lips slot, parts his own and Will shivers, drinking what falls eagerly, not a drop wasted. His tongue curls into the corner of Hannibal's mouth, catching the water, then inward, behind Hannibal's teeth, a flicker, and he swallows his mouthful, the chaste press of their lips turning into a kiss that feels like gratitude, like benediction.

Hannibal does it again, and then feeds Will another grape, smiling at the look in Will's eyes. He's wondrous, wonderful, a beast tamed with kind touches and soft words of love. Hannibal swallows, so thirsty, so desperate for Will.

Will's eyes drop, to his lap, to where his hands are resting on Hannibal's thighs. They flex, skitter inward, brush teasing-light along Hannibal's half-hard cock, and he breathes out, licks his lips. Lift his eyes, and they're sharp, now.

Hannibal smiles, brushes his hands through Will's drying hair, cups his nape and squeezes. Will sags, gasping, groaning, forehead falling to Hannibal's thigh, over his knuckles. His skin breaks out in a new wave of goose bumps and Hannibal, encouraged, pushes the blanket off his shoulders to pool around their feet.

The hour is late morning, if he were to guess – the sky is bright outside, though not as lovely as Will's eyes. The birds have long since stopped their morning song and moved to the chorus of noontime, and the wind is brushing through the trees, teasing, playful.

And yet, this is not the mindset Hannibal wants to hunt in. Will is slack with pleasure, with love – to treat him savagely now would go against purpose. He slides his hands down Will's shoulders, measuring the tension in them, fingers tracing finely over the arc of marks he left to Will's muscles. Then, he stands, and pulls Will to him. Will goes, sagging to his chest, lifts his mouth up for a kiss and Hannibal answers him, drinks down Will's quiet, desperate moan. Pressed as they are together, he feels Will's erection, heavy and warm on their bare skin, slick at the tip.

His hands drag down, gentle, cup Will at the small of his back – dip down lower, to find him still slick, though tight. Will doesn't flinch, gives no indication that this isn't what he wants. He arches to Hannibal, nails dug into his biceps, white-knuckled, as Hannibal pushes inside with one finger.

He moans, choking on something that sounds like Hannibal's name and a curse wrapped into one. Hannibal smiles, nuzzles Will's throat, kisses him over the rush of his pulse.

"Do you want me, Will?" he asks.

Will nods, trembling, his fingers curling more tightly, then they gentle, slide up Hannibal's arms to his shoulders, dig in again.

Whispers, raggedly; "Please."

Hannibal closes his eyes, pushes his finger in deep to Will. He needs more slick, would never take his lover so roughly, unstretched. He pulls his finger out and wraps both arms around Will tightly, crushing him to his chest, lifts his mouth and claims Will's in a passionate kiss.

Will whimpers, his breathing harsh, cheeks dark now from arousal, from need. Hannibal takes him, pulls him back to the bed, lays him out like an offering on his back. Will looks to him, reaches for him, and Hannibal covers him, hand reaching below the bed to where they set the bottle of lubricant.

He wets his fingers as quickly as he can, and slides them between Will's spread thighs. Will moans, arching, aching, his throat bared as he tilts his head back and blinks to the ceiling, jaws parted to show his tongue pressed tight behind his teeth.

Hannibal adds a second finger, stretching Will out, watches the sink of his stomach, the abrupt rise of his chest, ribs standing out stark. Lowers his mouth to Will, nuzzles the softness of his marred belly, kisses the tender flesh. Will's hands go to his hair, petting, not pulling.

He lets out a sharp cry as Hannibal smiles, tilts his head and licks over the head of Will's cock, gathering the taste of him on his tongue. He's loud, uninhibited, moaning as Hannibal purrs and sucks his cockhead between his lips, jaw tight, teeth cushioned by his tongue. He takes Will into his mouth, crooks his fingers until Will shudders, gasping, his hands going tight.

Will moans, hisses, sobs as Hannibal finds his prostate, pressing mercilessly against the swollen gland. His cock leaks steadily into Hannibal, sating his thirst, sating his hunger, as he sucks and licks below the head, over the vein, lowers his lips further and takes all of Will as Will stutters and cries out again. He presses deep, growling as he feels Will spasm, clench, bear down.

Will throws his head to one side, flanks heaving and shining with sweat as he comes with a sweet cry into Hannibal's mouth. Hannibal pulls back, lets it pool, sharp and thick on his tongue. Touches Will, through it, sucks until Will is trembling with overstimulation. His eyes flash, focus, lower to meet Hannibal's, and Hannibal pulls off.

He cups Will's nape and feeds Will his come, and Will moans, tongue uncoordinated yet eager, lips slack, so that it spills from the corners of his mouth, making him dirty. Hannibal pulls his fingers out, catches Will's wrists on his neck, presses them flat to the mattress.

Will gasps when Hannibal allows him air, staring without seeing, and Hannibal growls, pushes close between Will's thighs.

"Close your eyes," he says.

Will obeys, shivering as Hannibal pushes into him, one smooth thrust to sheath himself inside of Will's blister-hot flesh. Hannibal shudders, too wound-up, too strung-out, to make it last. He fucks into Will, growling, and Will's lashes flutter, open, he parts his lips and shows Hannibal his teeth.

Hannibal answers in kind, and comes with another growl, filling his sweet boy as Will trembles for him. They're both shaking, caked in sweat, and Hannibal releases Will's wrists, lets him grab, and pull, lets him wrap his legs around Hannibal and keep him inside as Hannibal finishes.

One of his hands slides down, nails digging into Hannibal's ass, holding him there. "Stay," he whispers, plaintive, high-pitched. "Please."

Hannibal growls, plasters himself to Will, smearing their sweat along their skin. He wraps his fingers in Will's damp hair, kisses him, again, again, as Will sighs and whines and lets himself be filled, fights to keep Hannibal inside him. His body clenches, aching with fullness, and Hannibal shivers, his cock sending sharp aftershocks of sensation up his spine.

"Stay?" Will asks, eyes, mouth, skin wet.

Hannibal rears up, pushes Will's leg up and across his chest, so Will turns, and Hannibal can lay at his back, still inside him. He sinks in another inch, growling as Will's body gives an answering spasm, and wraps his arms tightly around Will, nose in his hair, breathing him in.

Will reaches back, curls around Hannibal's thigh, lets himself be bracketed and covered. The same desperate, affectionate need is still in Hannibal's chest, to cover Will, to consume him, to hollow out a place for himself so his lover is always warm and safe within it. He pulls at the edge of a blanket, wrapping them up in it, and nuzzles Will's neck, kisses his jaw, his ear, his throat, listens to and measures the slowing of his heart, the steadiness as it returns to his breathing.

Will blinks, going lax, and wipes at his face. "Fuck," he breathes, sounding more human now, more settled. He turns his head, seeking Hannibal's mouth. Hannibal kisses him, curls his arms around Will's head and lets Will bury his nose in his elbow, cheek against Will's hair. " _Fuck_."

It feels like Will is clawing at himself, dragging his consciousness to him by its teeth. Hannibal sighs, sated, warm, and parts his jaws to bite Will's nape. Will whimpers, spasming again, hips rolling to try and get Hannibal to stay inside him.

"Take your time, darling," Hannibal says to him, petting down Will's flank. "It's alright, I'm here."

Will's exhale is shaky, broken. He huffs, sounding embarrassed, but Hannibal cannot let him to be so. He kisses Will's bitten neck, sighs, pets over his stomach. "My love," he whispers. Will trembles. "You're so perfect, so beautiful. Every facet of you I find, I adore as much as the last." Perhaps even more so. Removing and examining layers of Will is like adding another spice to a meal – he doesn't think he could ever tire of tasting something new.

"I can't -. I -." Will's voice is ragged, though he hasn't said much today at all, and rough with disuse. He wipes at his face again, rubs his cheek to Hannibal's bicep. "I need you," he whispers, heavy.

Hannibal growls, rolling his hips, cock twitching at the soft admission. "I'm here," he says.

Will tightens for him, sucks in a breath, and turns his head. Hannibal meets his eyes, catches his smile, soaked with adoration. "I know," he breathes, and kisses lightly at Hannibal's jaw. "But I need you. Again." He clenches up and Hannibal growls, rolling his hips, seeking Will's tightness. Will conjures in him something rabid, something clawed and needing. He puts his hand on Will's hip, pulls back and thrusts in just an inch, so sensitive, sore, yet his cock is hardening, incensed by Will's open desperation for him.

" _Yes_ ," Will growls, tightening his hand on Hannibal's thigh. His eyes are sharp, focused, that prowling creature returned. "Yeah, that's it. Just -." He goes silent, choking as Hannibal growls, fucks in again. His eyelids flutter, close, his jaw tightening at the corner with fissures of pleasure as Hannibal works him onto his cock. "Just like that."

His neck goes limp, head falling to Hannibal's arms again, and Hannibal tightens around him just as Will clenches for him, he holds Will and, after a moment, shifts his weight, pushes Will onto his stomach. Will moans, thighs spreading, lifting into Hannibal's thrusts. He's slick, so warm, so tight. Hannibal covers him, teeth to Will's shoulder, and slowly, watching to see any protest, he flattens a hand over Will's eyes.

Will's breath hitches, and he leans into it, letting out a soft curse. His shoulders roll, tighten, and Hannibal bites down on him, wanting to coax that beast out. Will is coming back to him, emerging from the thing he had been that was made of mountain grass and wildflowers, and now he burns, claws and teeth and eyes shining with want, hidden behind Hannibal's hand.

" _God_ , please," Will moans, arching back, his knuckles white amidst the blankets. He tightens around Hannibal, like he's fighting every withdrawal, welcoming every thrust inside. Hannibal growls, shoving deep, shoulders tight and hips rolling as his mind whites out in pleasure again. He feels himself twitching, spilling another weak load into Will.

He pulls his hand away, drags nails down Will's chest and touches him, but Will flinches, growling, and Hannibal pauses.

"Will?" he asks.

Will shakes his head, stretching out, and turns to meet Hannibal's eyes. "I'm alright," he murmurs, and Hannibal frowns, tilting his head, but settles his hands on Will's hips instead.

"Can I pull out?"

Will huffs a laugh, blushing deeply. He bites his lower lip and nods, and Hannibal withdraws from him, hissing in pleasure-pain. Will turns, to his knees, and pulls Hannibal into a rough, deep kiss, presses close as they settle on the bed, facing each other.

Will's eyes are bright, sharp. He's human again. He touches Hannibal's mouth, fingers shaking with pleasure, and cuddles close until his nose is against Hannibal's shoulder.

"Thank you," he whispers, as Hannibal wraps his arms around Will. He's still very sensitive, skin too-warm, and yet always eager for Will.

Hannibal kisses his hair, nuzzles his temple. He breathes out, smiling. "Are you still hungry?" he asks.

Will nods, huffing sheepishly. Almost on cue, his stomach rumbles, and Hannibal pulls back from him with a laugh. He kisses Will again, cupping his face, and they rise from the bed and return to the table. Will sits, this time, wincing at the cold, shifting his weight as he undoubtedly leaks onto the seat. Hannibal can smell him, musk and sex and satisfaction. He so adores that smell on Will.

He takes out the rest of the grapes, and the cold cuts, lifting them to his nose to smell, finding them serviceable now after their time in the fridge. He brings them to Will and retrieves another glass of water, and Will eats ravenously, devouring his meal. Hannibal eats with him, more slowly, enthralled with the movement of Will's throat, the way he sucks on his fingers to get rid of grape juice, the way he gasps after every large gulp of water.

He raises a brow, head tilted, but lets Will eat. His questions will wait.

Though, he thinks, he doesn't know if he has many. This is Will in the wild, uninhibited, free to play in the animal mindset he wants so much. It's visceral, carnal – relies on being taken care of, of being watched while the animal plays. Hannibal can see the freedom in it, see how Will's shoulders are lax and heavy, his face without tightness, eyes sparkling with satisfaction.

He smiles, when Will meets his eyes. "Don't for a second think that I didn't enjoy what just happened," he begins. Will swallows, head tilting. "It was very sudden, and very extreme. I feel compelled to ask if you're alright."

Will blushes, ducking his head, but not ashamed. He smiles, and takes another bite of meat.

"I woke up," he says, simply. "And I heard the birds. Smelled the woods. It…ignited something in me. There's freedom, here."

Hannibal nods, for that he cannot deny. "I think I understand, better," he says. Will's thing about thresholds – he spends so long looking through the eyes of killers, and Hannibal's home is a safe haven. Where he can just be, with all his wants, all his desires. He is open, and joyous, but he wants to be himself. That answer comes in stark clarity – this is a version of Will, yes, but he was right; he is not an animal, and to be treated like one in Hannibal's home isn't something he wants.

Will meets his eyes, a shadow of recognition passing behind them, as familiar, Hannibal thinks, as what he must look like when he's reading Will's cues. Hannibal's understanding conjures a reaction in Will, a settlement and safety he craves. Will swallows, and nods, as though to himself.

Hannibal smiles, and takes a drink of water. The sun is out in full, now, sliding through the planes of glass behind him, warming the air.

"The day promises to be remarkably pleasant," Hannibal says mildly.

Will nods. "I need to go out, leave myself something warm, a bottle of water. Maybe some food."

Hannibal tilts his head, cataloguing this. Certainly, he would want Will to have a jacket, just in case Hannibal cannot find him before the air grows cold. He's not sure what Will intends to wear out there – Hannibal will insist on shoes, and maybe sweatpants just in case they do happen upon someone else, however low the odds for that might be. But if Will is shirtless, his back and shoulders and chest will soak up the sun, be whipped and branded by wayward branches, by twigs, his hands and forearms grazed with rough stone. He'll be dirty, and wild. Might even bleed.

Hannibal swallows, but naked as he is, he can't hide the press of his thighs or the clench of his belly. And Will, with his all-seeing, sharp eyes, notices. He smirks, wolfish, cheeks dimpling, but doesn't comment. He takes another drink of water, finishing his glass, and Hannibal pushes his own towards him without a word.

Will raises a brow. "You've barely eaten."

Hannibal smiles. "I will eat during your head start," he replies smoothly. Will swallows, sucking in a tight breath, fingers flexing around another roll of sliced honeyed ham. Sweet meat. "You'll need your strength."

Will bites his lower lip, hard, and swallows again. "And how long will I get, for a head start?"

"What do you think is fair?" Hannibal says, head tilting.

Will rolls his shoulders, his voice soft and eager when he says; "An hour."

Hannibal gins, showing teeth. "Certainly not," he replies. Will's eyes flash to him, cautious, considering, like he knows Hannibal is going to say something ruinous; "Do you think I could resist for that long? You have denied me what is mine for too long already. I will not wait an hour."

Even as Will's breath hitches, his shoulders roll like a challenge – and yet his eyes, his eyes soften like melted wax, and drop, to the ground, to Hannibal's feet, as though he wants to kneel there again. Softly, he whines, fingers trembling and flexing, drawn to his lap. Hannibal lets him sit, lets him shiver, soaks in the sight of him, lets the shaken inhales and exhales become a song, to match the birds. Lets the sight of Will's flushed chest and white knuckles sear themselves into the backs of his eyelids.

"Ten minutes then," Will finally says, growling the words.

Hannibal tilts his head. "That, my dear, is not long at all."

"Does it matter?" Will demands. He shifts his weight, brings his heels to rest against the legs of his chair, fingers fidgeting. There's a tension in his jaw that is new, something anxious in the way he meets Hannibal's eyes. Not eager – Hannibal knows Will's eagerness. This is something else. "Either you'll find me or you won’t."

 _Ah_. Hannibal smiles.

"And you are worried that I won't."

Will's jaw slides to one side, his teeth meet at their edges. He rolls his shoulders and huffs, ducking his gaze down.

"I'm not being unreasonable," he says, somewhat childishly. "Just because you're willing and eager to do this with me doesn't mean it's actually possible. You -. I don't know if you've ever even hunted before. If you know what kinds of things to look for, or if you'll be able to find me. Hell." He rolls his eyes, lifts his head. "I don't even know how I'm going to feel, when it's actually happening. It's just…" He stops, as though feeling he's said too much, and swallows. "There's a lot of room for error," he finishes. Hannibal nods, pressing his lips together, and gives a considering hum.

He lets out a breath, slow, looks to Will again. "You will be allowed half an hour," he says. "Then I will begin my hunt." Will's eyes flash, and he nods, biting his lower lip. Hannibal smiles, and stands, and Will's brow furrows when Hannibal cups his face and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Get dressed into whatever suits you, darling."

Then, he moves away, grabs a pair of sweats that are loose around the ankle and will allow him freedom of movement. He puts underwear on, and then those, and a t-shit under a thick jacket that sits somewhat loose on his shoulders. Then, he puts on socks, and tennis shoes, all while Will watches him, sharp-eyed and ravenous.

Hannibal smiles at him, and takes the knife Will gave him. Will stands, swallowing harshly at the sight of it, as Hannibal twists it in his hand. It's still sheathed, the leather sliding butter-soft along his palm. Between his fingers.

He looks to Will, finds him panting, his fingers flexing at his sides like he's fighting the urge to run. Slowly, he pulls the knife out, turns it so its serrated edge touches the pad of his thumb. Does not press. Will's eyes are black, now, and so wide, his lips parted like he expects Hannibal to cut himself and is ready to drink it down – like the water, like his seed. Whatever Hannibal offers him.

Hannibal smiles, and slides the knife back into its sheath. Will flinches like he's been struck.

Hannibal's smile widens, and he feels that red-eyed, feral warmth blooming in his chest when Will swallows, keeps his head low, and Hannibal slides the knife into the pocket of his jacket. He walks to the front door. "Your time starts now."

 

 

He is sitting on the porch, idly watching the scurry of squirrels and chipmunks, listening to the noon song of the birds, when Will emerges. It has been, perhaps, eight minutes since he left Will inside. Hannibal has been counting to sixty, methodically, meditative in an effort to keep his breaths calm and his patience thick. The air is warm, the sun bright, the breeze fresh and teasing at his hair.

He looks up as Will's shadow falls across him. Will is wearing long shorts that go to his knees, but fall loosely around his hips and thighs, black with a stripe of grey running down the side of them. He has black running shoes on, and no shirt. His hair is mostly dry now, wild and fluffy on his head.

His eyes, dark. Fixed with no rhyme or rhythm between Hannibal and the open path ahead of them. In his hands, he has a sweatshirt, balled up, and within the burrito Hannibal sees the cap of a water bottle.

Hannibal smiles at him, and Will meets his eyes. He is not smiling, but his eyes shine with affection, with anticipation. He lifts his heels, ready to go, and Hannibal's smile widens. He nods to the path, and holds out a hand in invitation.

Will grins at him, nudges Hannibal's shoulder with his knee, and then takes off down the steps, onto the path. He is not sprinting, knows better than to wear himself out too quickly, but jogs, bundle clutched to his side as he runs.

Hannibal counts to thirty, and follows.

 

 

He finds Will as he's stashing his sweatshirt and water. Sweat has already begun to shine on his bared shoulders, mud on his hands, humidity dampening his hair and making it curl. The slope of his back, with lines from Hannibal's hands, calls to him, makes him want to approach, to mount.

Will stiffens, undoubtedly feelings eyes on him. He straightens and turns, and Hannibal steps to one side, using a tree as cover. He hides a smile, imagines Will scanning the trees. Imagines his upper lip curling, his shoulders rolling.

Then, movement; Will starts running to the side, following the perimeter. Hannibal can see him move, watches as Will runs away from him. His smile widens, and he follows, at a much slower pace. Though the trees are dense, they are lacking in lower branches and bushes, so as Will darts through the trees, Hannibal sees flashes of his pale skin, watches as it flushes with exertion.

His beautiful, wild animal. Hannibal smiles and, after a moment, pauses by a tree. One that Will did not mark. He carves a mark at eye-level, an 'equals' sign like Will left to guide them back to the cabin. He does it on the next tree, then the next, and chases Will for long enough to regain him in his line of sight. He carves another tree, and continues on his course. He is not worried about getting lost – for all the denseness of the trees, the open air and the way one might easily lose their sense of direction, the area itself is not large.

And there is one thing Will did not take into account:

Hannibal can smell him.

Will's scent calls to him, sweat and sex and lemongrass. It's sharp, clean, and utterly soaked in Hannibal's own scent. He could find Will blind, in the darkness, in the wild. The wayward etchings just make it more interesting.

He follows Will's trail, sees where his shoes have left indents in the ground, where fallen twigs have snapped, leaves crushed under his weight. He pauses, hearing a crunch of leaves, and turns his head to one side. He sees Will, dirt and grazes on his arms. Will freezes, nostrils flared, panting heavily. His eyes meet Hannibal's and his upper lip curls, chin lifting.

Hannibal smiles at him, carves another 'equals' sign in a tree, and continues on, past Will, giving him a wide berth.

He hears Will let out a snarl, breathy and low. Knows Hannibal is chases him, before his time is up. Lets Will absorb the knowledge that Hannibal is here, is watching. Waiting. He doesn't look back, but feels Will's eyes on him. He smiles to himself, carving another tree, cavalier and not caring if Will is watching him. He hopes his darling beast understands what he's doing.

When he sees Will again, he's covered in sweat, panting, snarling with that predator shining in his eyes. Hannibal has been counting in his head, and knows Will's time is almost up. He settles on a fallen log, pulls his heels up so he's sitting comfortably.

"Twenty-seven minutes," he says.

Will snarls, and flees.

Hannibal closes his eyes, breathes in deeply. Counts to sixty, again, again – then.

He rises, pocketing his knife. The way home has been thoroughly compromised, and only their perimeter remains. He prowls swiftly through the trees, marking remnants of Will's passing – scattered bark, torn leaves and bushes. Will has clearly been moving without care, his legs and arms will be scraped and torn. He might be bleeding. Hannibal's mouth waters at the thought.

Will knows he's been watching, monitoring – knows Hannibal is close. Perhaps thinks Hannibal's eyes are on him, in the beady looks of birds and woodland creatures. Static, trembling, on-edge and wild. A beast knowing another predator is at its back.

He follows Will's trail, follows his scent. Breathes in, deeply, and stops. The wind carries Will to him, feathers and grass, and Hannibal's fingers flex when he feels Will's eyes on him. Those eyes, he would know those eyes anywhere, know their weight and their worth.

He takes another step forward, scans the trees and the brush. Presses his lips together, and tilts his head to one side to listen.

He can hear Will panting.

He smiles. Waits. One step, a flutter of leaves. Another, a bird cawing in the distance. A squirrel runs across the path in front of him, from left to right, and up a tree. Hannibal's shoulders roll, and he goes tense.

He turns when Will lunges for him, catches his shoulders and slams him against a tree. Will snarls, wild, eyes shining brightly, teeth bared. Hannibal's smile turns into a growl of his own, and he fits his hand to Will's neck, forces him back.

Will sucks in a breath, trembling, and claws at Hannibal's wrist. Hannibal hauls him from the tree and lets go of him, so Will goes stumbling, staggering to his knees and hands. Before he can rise, Hannibal has a hand in his hair, jerks harshly and Will gasps, eyes widening, looking up at Hannibal with something akin to fear.

But it is not fear. Hannibal doesn't smell that on him – nothing but dirt, blood, sex. Will looks to him like some kneeling god, a creature of temptation and warmth. If he were a wood nymph, Hannibal would easily fall under his spell, suffer whatever consequences he must for the carnal knowledge of his flesh.

He smirks, lifts his chin, and Will snarls at him, swipes at him, claws extended. Hannibal jerks him by the hair, forces him to his knees again, and pulls out the knife. Will's eyes flash, widen, and Hannibal smiles, steps close to him, and lays the sheath against his throat.

"What do we have here?" he murmurs, watching as Will shivers, flesh pebbling at the sound of Hannibal's voice. He's trembling, exhausted, sweaty, his hair wet and his mouth parted, panting. There are thin traces of blood on his shoulders, his arms, the red marks from Hannibal's teeth shining slickly with his sweat.

Will swallows, whines, leans subtly into the press of the knife. Hannibal tilts his head, tightens his hand in Will's hair and pulls him upright, to a half-crouch, and turns him, pressing him against the waist-high – very convenient, if this is Will's design he's very cunning – trunk of a fallen tree. Will arches back against it, facing Hannibal, unconsciously spreading his legs even as his hands claw at Hannibal's jacket.

Will snarls, snaps his jaws together; a warning.

One brow rises, and Hannibal smiles, touching the edge of the knife to Will's neck again. Will immediately goes still, and yet he vibrates, too worked up, knowing Hannibal was chasing him. Knowing Hannibal's eyes on him, seeking him out. Tamed by the hand in his hair, tighter than Hannibal has grabbed before.

Hannibal pulls him upright, until their foreheads almost knock. Will jerks, snarls, tries to headbutt him but the hand in his hair is too tight, too strong, for him to do it. He breathes out, showing his teeth, and Hannibal lifts his chin, meets Will's eyes. He is the predator, here. Will needs to understand that – wants to understand that. Hannibal has seen this light in his eyes many times; the need to be dominated, controlled, wants to fight and find submission in that fight. This is Will as a wildling, this is Will out in the woods.

Hesitation stalls his hands, just for a moment. Will has never actively fought him, their games have never broached that line. Yet, Will said he would struggle. Said he would fight. Hannibal must push past that – if Will talks, he will stop. That was what they agreed upon.

Will snaps his jaws together again, lets out an impatient growl, and Hannibal smiles. "Ah, no," he says, like he might speak to one of Will's dogs were any of them untrained enough to be hostile to him. Will blinks, fast, twice, bares his teeth again.

Hannibal steps back, releases him, but before Will can gain his feet and flee, Hannibal pulls the knife out of its sheath. Will goes still, immediately, eyes wide and flickering with apprehension.

Hannibal turns, buries the knife into the soft wood of the fallen tree, far enough Will can't immediately reach for it. He takes Will by the neck again and, when Will snarls, he shoves the sheath between his teeth.

Will blinks at him, sucks in a breath, unconsciously sinking his teeth into the soft leather, and Hannibal growls, pleased at having distracted him. He turns Will, throws him over the fallen tree, and plasters himself to Will's back.

Will trembles, batting uncoordinated at the tree, nails and knuckles scraping the bark, groaning when Hannibal ruts up against him. He sags at the neck, though his shoulders are tensed, and Hannibal wraps a hand around his nape, forcing his submission as he would in a dog. Will whines, muffled around the makeshift gag, and Hannibal pulls out a single strip of cloth he kept, in his jacket, hidden from Will.

He reaches in front of Will, lets him see it, giving him time to refuse. Will shudders, fingers flexing, but Hannibal sees in him no resistance – not when Hannibal pulls it around his face, not when he binds it over Will's eyes, not when he pulls it into a tight knot at the base of his skull.

Instead, Will moans, and arches back.

Hannibal smiles, purring, and nuzzles Will's sweaty hair. "That's more like it," he says, sliding his hands through the sweat, the dirt, the blood on Will's shoulders, keeping him pinned, and caged. Will whimpers, no fight left in him now. Hannibal growls and presses his nose to Will's nape, breathes him in deeply.

Says, testing; "I can smell how slick you are, darling. Like you're in heat."

Will gasps, teeth still locked around the sheath, a sharp tremor of arousal running down his spine. Hannibal can feel him tensing, arching, so sweet and willing beneath him. "Shh," Hannibal whispers, coaxing, and his hands flatten on Will's heaving flanks, slide down to the waistband of his shorts. Push, baring pale flesh. "I know it must hurt."

Will moans, loudly, brings his elbows together to brace himself on the tree. Hannibal lets his clothes wrap tight around his thighs, hobbling him, and he pushes with one hand to free his erection, keeping his other hand in Will's hair so he doesn't flee.

Will goes tense at the feel of him, shuddering, letting out a snarl half-hearted and low.

Hannibal growls in answer, tugs on his hair sharply until Will gasps. "I found you," he says, working on some vague, basic instinct; the same instinct that calls to him whenever Will is pliant and weak in his bed. "I chased you, and overpowered you." Will whimpers. "Are you going to let me mount you, sweet thing?"

Will moans, bowing his head despite the harsh pull on his hair. He arches back, turns to meet Hannibal's eyes, yet he cannot see. That is unthinkable. Hannibal yanks the blindfold down, now that he has Will and Will isn't going to run – it is, perhaps, something they will play with later.

The flush on his cheeks is darker, now, red meat and bloody wine. His eyes burn, seeking, desperate.

Hannibal smiles at him, pleased and proud. Will is still slick, still loose enough that he only feels a slight pinch of worry when he ruts against his hole. But Will's lashes flutter, dip down, and he lets out one of the sweetest whines Hannibal has ever heard; plaintive, pleading.

Hannibal clenches his jaw, and pushes into him.

Will moans, jaw going lax enough that the sheath falls, dropping from his mouth to the ground. His second moan is louder, open, entire body rolling to get Hannibal as deep inside him as possible. Hannibal snarls, tightens his free hand on Will's hip, forces himself all the way inside.

Will is blister-hot, his body burning from running and fighting, his muscles trembling and spasming tightly around Hannibal's cock. Hannibal can feel his own come, still inside Will, and snarls, letting Will's hair go and planting his other hand on his hip.

"Looks like someone found you first," he growls. Will whimpers, clenching up, gives a silent shake of his head that isn't resistance, but refusal. There is no one but Hannibal, and yet -. "You just needed it so badly, didn't you? Didn't care who you got it from."

It's false possessiveness, but it hits him strongly. So, apparently, does it strike Will, ignites him, incenses him. He flattens his hands to the tree and arches back, panting, begging without words. Hannibal fucks him brutally, nails tight in Will's hips, holding him still. The bunch of their clothes burns, chafes. Will isn't going to be able to walk properly afterwards, and it's an incredibly delightful thought.

Hannibal is too raw, too high on the feeling on conquest, to hold himself back. He fucks in, fucks hard, bruising Will with his hands, bows over him and bites harshly at his shoulder, drawing another welt to match the others. Will trembles, gasps, cries out for him, nails digging into the soft bark of the tree and tearing as Hannibal uses him.

Hannibal is sweating, now, wet as Will. He sucks another mark to Will's nape, under the blindfold that is now like a collar. He slides a hand up, knots his fingers in it, and tugs.

Will lets out a weak, shredded noise, his body clenching up unbearably tightly as Hannibal chokes him, keeps up pressure, pulls and pulls until Will whines, and he loosens his hold, allowing him a slip of air, before he tightens his hand again. Will shivers, clenching, tightening, he's close – Hannibal can smell the sweet whiskey-burn of his arousal, the sharpness of him.

Will is wet, Hannibal leaking into the mess he already made. He snarls, digs his nails into Will's flesh, and fucks in deeply. He goes still, overwhelmed, lost to Will, and groans as he starts to come, filling Will up to the point where he feels it leaking, dripping down his cock, his balls, staining Will's thighs.

Will sags, heavy on the collar, heavy on the tree. Hannibal frees his neck, bites him, and slides his hand to Will's cock. It takes barely a touch before Will is coming, shouting his pleasure into his own forearm. Hannibal watches his jaws part, watches him bite down. Watches his eyes close, tighten, watches his shoulders tremble and roll, flanks heaving, whimpering as Hannibal strokes him through his orgasm until the spasms of Will's body force his cock out, force the mess out as well.

Hannibal lets him go, parts Will's flesh, and tuts. He pushes in with two fingers and Will groans as he scoops his come out, letting it drip down Will's trembling thighs and stain his clothes. A reward, and a punishment, all in one.

"Don't worry, darling," he purrs. "I'll make sure you don't get pregnant."

"Oh – oh my _God_ ," Will says, hoarse. He trembles again, fists his cock to drag out another aftershock, clamping down around Hannibal like he's feeling his arousal peak and coming again, spilling out another weak load as Hannibal coaxes his release free. "Fuck, _fuck_." Will slams his free hand against the tree, gasping, growling, and Hannibal smiles, keeps touching him, until Will is shivering, oversensitive, and he falls to his knees next to the tree.

Hannibal lets him go, wipes his fingers on his sweatpants and pulls them with his underwear back into place. He grabs the knife, and the sheath, one hand in Will's hair to keep him down, and puts the knife away, back into his pocket.

Then, he kneels behind Will, pets him as he gasps and pants, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. Hannibal undoes the knot of cloth from around his neck, admiring the redness there, and pockets it as well.

Will turns to him, seeking him, kisses him as Hannibal corrects his clothes and falls into place beside Will. They're both dirty, soaked with sweat, hands streaked with come as Hannibal curls his fingers through Will's hair and Will cups his neck, as though wanting to feel Hannibal's pulse hammering, wanting to taste blood in his teeth.

Hannibal pulls back when there is no more air, smiles as Will collapses against the tree, turning so he's sitting. Hannibal joins him, their fingers laced, content to let Will calm and focus himself again.

After a while, Will turns, nuzzles Hannibal's shoulder. He's smiling, glowing with satisfaction, and Hannibal returns it, petting over his cheek with gentle knuckles.

He huffs when Will meets his eyes, playful and dark. "I went a little off-script," he says.

Will laughs, turns and presses himself to Hannibal's side. Turns his cheek into Hannibal's palm and lets out a soft sigh. "It was fucking awesome," he replies, and Hannibal smiles. "But you cheated."

"Cheated?" Hannibal asks, one brow raised.

"You started before it was time," Will says, eyes narrowed in playful agitation.

Hannibal laughs. "I did not," he replies coolly. "I merely went out for a walk."

Will hums, lifts his chin. "And the trees?"

"Made it more interesting."

Will huffs again, head tilted. "I love you," he says, gently, smiling.

Hannibal returns it, entire being softening to Will. "And I love you," he replies, petting through his hair. "I adore you."

Will's smile widens, and he lifts his mouth for a kiss that Hannibal eagerly grants him, thumbing gently over the marks on his neck. Will shivers, pressing closer, seeking warmth. Hannibal kisses him again, humming in consideration as he feels his fingers smear through the mess on them, spreading over Will's neck.

"You'll have to forgive me," he says, and Will blinks, tilting his head. "You're very particular about where I leave my messes."

Will's eyes flash, and his cheeks darken. He swallows, turns his head and pulls his knees up, resting them over Hannibal's thigh. Admits, in a soft voice; "That's okay," he says. "This time. Given the…circumstances."

Hannibal smiles, sharp and knowing. "You seemed to greatly enjoy the idea," he says lightly – for if Will doesn't want to talk about it, Hannibal of course won't force him. Will's lashes flutter, expression sheepish. "Being mounted. Being bred."

"Being _denied_ that," Will says, shifting his weight. His voice is soft, breathy; "I've never even –. I mean, it's not something that just _comes up_ , you know?" Of course not. As a man, with all the internal plumbing of one, the idea that he might get pregnant is absurd. Will lifts his eyes, sighs, achingly soft.

Hannibal smiles. "We can talk about it more at the cabin," he suggests. The woods are no place for their conversations, after all, too open for the vulnerable, golden brilliance of Will's mind. Will nods, and Hannibal stands, pulling him to his feet. He kisses Will, takes his hand, and leads him back to where they left Will's sweater and water. Will pulls the sweater over his head, threads his arms through – Hannibal mourns the loss of so much lovely skin, but he will have Will bare again soon enough.

Will opens the water, nursing it as Hannibal leads him back to the cabin. Hannibal leads the way inside and immediately starts the fire as Will goes to what's left of the food, finishing the grapes and the rest of the meat. Hannibal straightens, sheds his jacket and lays it over the back of the free chair.

Hannibal sits, content to remain dirty and disheveled for a little while longer. Will finishes his water with a final gasp, setting the bottle down with a crackle of plastic, and meets his eyes.

Hannibal sits forward, elbows on his knees, and Will mirrors him, mimics him, lifts his hands to his mouth and idly rubs his fingers across his pink lips. Smiles, sharply – he's assured, so settled, no longer the thing jittery with anticipation. Refined, sleek as a hunter. Hannibal meets his eyes, meets his smile, and tilts his head.

"Do you think," he begins, wanting to be sure he phrases it just so, "that your desire to cage me, to make me fill you over and over again, is a stepping stone to this desire to be bred?"

Will shivers, biting his lower lip, fingers curling so his knuckles rest to his jaw. "Yes," he replies, self-assured, open. No hesitation. "I thought, back when I dated women, that I'd be a father someday. But not…" He winces, humming. "I never really got that far with anyone. But I was always worried, especially with the things I see, the things I think about." He huffs. "I don't have to worry about that with you."

Hannibal lifts his eyebrows.

Will huffs, smiling. "It's a perk, not a stipulation," he says, gently, fondly. "I think the things I like would be the same, regardless of gender. The same, with you."

Hannibal nods, folding his hands together. "Is this something you wish to keep out here?" he asks.

Will blinks, brow creasing. He bites his lower lip and shakes his head, once. "I don't think so," he replies. "It's not about – it's separate from hunting." Hannibal nods, showing he understands. Will's eyelids go heavy, irises black at the memory. He touches his fingers to his neck, shivers. The bite he left on his own arm is dark and has imprints of his teeth. "God, the way you sounded. I thought you were going to hurt me. I could imagine, another man who got to me first, imagined you hurting him." His knuckles go white, jaw tense.

Hannibal smiles. "Will," he says, and Will's eyes snap to him, wide and dark. Hannibal reaches out, flattens his hands on Will's knees, forces them to spread and Will shivers, sucking in a breath, swallows. "I would chase you for a thousand miles, overcome a thousand men, for the right to call you mine."

It is possessiveness where there need be none, darkness amidst their light. Will's thighs tremble, tense up, and he leans forward, catches Hannibal's neck and kisses him, fiercely, passionately. Hannibal moans into his mouth, slides off the seat, to his knees between Will's spread legs.

Will lets out a shocked, gasping sound, eyes wide when Hannibal looks up at him. Hannibal smiles, leans in for another kiss, and runs his hands up Will's thighs, to his stained clothes – up, over, to the waistband. Will swallows, lifting his hips so Hannibal can pull them down to his knees.

Will kisses him again, whimpering quietly as Hannibal takes him in a gentle grip, coaxing him to hardness. The fire is reaching them, now, painting Will in that familiar gold and black. He looks beautiful, a fallen star and crashing meteors. Will slouches, moaning as Hannibal bends down and licks over the head of his cock. Will is sharp with sweat, and Hannibal lets saliva pool, muting the taste of him, before he parts his lips and sinks down, taking Will the first few inches into his mouth.

"Fuck," Will whispers, hands falling to Hannibal's hair, carding through it. His eyes are wet, breaths stuttering, hitching up as Hannibal sucks harshly at the head of his cock, tonguing the vein. He flattens his hands to Will's thighs, cupping the bottom of them, encouraging him to spread, to thrust, to use Hannibal's mouth.

"Oh, God, _Hannibal_ ," Will breathes, hips jerking up, seeking the tight heat of him. Hannibal moans, low in his chest, tilts his head and tightens his hands, sinks down further onto Will. Will whimpers, shakes, knuckles brushing the nape of Hannibal's neck as he tugs Hannibal closer, wanting to fuck.

Hannibal parts his jaws, lets saliva drip down Will's cock, uses the slick to ease himself down until Will hits the back of his throat – down, further, as his throat spasms and tries to reject him. Will groans, heaving, moaning, thrusting up gently into Hannibal's mouth as Hannibal sucks him.

Hannibal lets out a low rumble, brings his fingers together, smears through the sharp-smelling mess he left on Will's thighs, between his legs. Pushes, gently, with one finger, where Will is open and wet. He pulls back, tucks his shoulders, sinks in again as Will sinks into him, sucking as his finger pierces Will deeply, crooking up.

Will's jaw clenches, teeth bared, blinking up at the ceiling, and then Hannibal cannot look up at him anymore, but bows his head, takes all of Will in until his nose is buried in the thatch of dark hair around the base of him. His free hand cups Will's thigh, digs into the marks he's left over the days since their reunion. His mouth floods, wet, warm, he wants to suck, to bite, to taste blood and sweat on his tongue. Wants to taste Will.

"Hannibal," Will says again, warning; he's close. Hannibal growls, sinks to the base again, pulls all the way back, lips tight and jaw aching. He works in another finger, tilts up, hooks Will and pulls him close and sinks down again. Will lets out a sharp, needy cry, cock twitching, and Hannibal pulls back so just the head is in his mouth, drinking Will down as Will comes into his mouth, coats his tongue.

He licks the slit as Will finishes, and Will tenses, flinches with a desperate noise. He pulls Hannibal off of him, folds forward and catches his mouth, licking his come from Hannibal's teeth, from his tongue. He kisses desperately, a long-lost love in the first moment of reunion, a man about to leave his beloved for war. All of this, and yet through it, settled; loving. Soaked with adoration and pride.

For Hannibal is his, just as Will is Hannibal's.

"I love you," Will breathes, without air, without volume. Hannibal smiles, leans in for another kiss. "I love you so fucking much."

Hannibal sighs, smiling wide, and kisses Will again, and pushes himself to his feet. "And I love you, my darling Will," he sighs, kissing Will one last time. He pulls Will to his feet, and tugs his clothes back into place.

Will's eyes shine, eager and sweet. His mouth, pink, is split into a wide smile, red cheeks dimpled. The fire has warmed his flesh, dried his hair until it's closer to the fluffy mess of wild curls it always is. He has bark in his hair, soft abrasions on his legs, on his arms, hidden by the sweater. He has never looked more beautiful.

Hannibal takes him. Takes him, and kisses him, and drinks down Will's eager moan.

"Let me show you just how much."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so tired and so strung out from this but it's been so much fun, I feel like this is a good last chapter? but y'all know how easily I am convinced to write more. i would also like to thank my good friend luc who helped me chill out from the hunter mindset 'cause lemme tell you that beast is foreign as FUCK and made me itchy lmao
> 
> catch y'all in the next fic! <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all I'm back at it again with my bullshit but I SWEAR I'm done after this chapter. I SWEAR.
> 
> Note: Please note the new tags! This chapter has consensual somnophilia which might be uncomfortable for some people. If you don't want to read it, you can skip to where Hannibal says "I'm not going anywhere". Hannibal also gets a prostate massage because he deserves it \o/
> 
> I hope you guys like these big, stupid boys being kinky and soft together in equal measure!

After their weekend in the cabin, Hannibal does not get to see Will for the entire following week. A new case had taken him out of state, to Minnesota, and though they spoke on the phone every night and exchanged texts throughout the day, Hannibal has been victimized by a solid ache in his chest whenever he goes to bed, to see that Will isn’t there, waiting for him.

Will had put the cage back on him before the drive back, and holds the keys in his possession. Hannibal doesn't mind – it is, he can confirm, much easier to hold his own desires in check when Will is not around, driving him wild with his beautiful eyes, his tempting smile, the scent of him coated into every inch of Hannibal until it feels like there is not a single part of him that has not been improved by Will's touch.

Hannibal calls Alana to give her warm thanks, and promises her that he will hold a veritable feast in her honor, for the offer of the cabin. That weekend sits in Hannibal's memory palace, shrouded in gold and the scent of pine, and will be a treasured wing for the rest of his life. He had learned so much about Will in those few days, and is eager to discover more, to peel back every layer of depravity and need in his beautiful lover until each of them have been exposed to the heart.

The next step for them, he thinks, will be to explore Will's love of pain. Will has shown a stark streak of masochism, desires to be marked and bruised. It is possessiveness, this odd version of Will's, that wants to be needed enough that Hannibal will do everything in his power to claim him, inside and out. Even the times when Will shows his more dominant side, he aches for that – he wants Hannibal to want him, that much is abundantly clear, and delights in Hannibal's teeth, the press of his nails, the savage brand of devotion that only Hannibal has given him.

It is with this in mind, when Will finally returns to him on a Saturday afternoon, that Hannibal greets him with a smile and a warm embrace, soaking himself in Will's scent and kissing him eagerly. Will is smiling, his shoulders sagging with relief as he kisses Hannibal back, warm hands sliding to his flanks and gripping tightly, entire body arching to be close to him. Hannibal turns him, presses him against the wall, and growls when he feels Will's teeth in his lower lip, a sharp sting of a bite that Will is quick to lick over, soothe with his tongue.

Hannibal's hand settles over his throat, his heart racing and his stomach clenching with eager hunger as he kisses Will. His sweet, beautiful Will, _God_ , Hannibal can't get enough of him.

He pulls back when they run out of air, takes in the darkness in Will's eyes and the pretty pink stain on his cheeks, and he smiles. "I have something for you," he murmurs, and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a single silver key.

Will's brows arch. He tilts his head, and Hannibal lets him go. He lifts his chin and takes the key, spinning it around between his fingers.

"Um, not to point out the obvious, but I already have a key to your place," he says with a laugh. "And you clearly didn't change the locks."

Hannibal laughs, and takes Will's hand. "Come," he murmurs. Will nods, toeing off his shoes, before he follows Hannibal upstairs. They do not go left, to Hannibal's bedroom, but to the right, where there is a guest room at the end of the hall. There's a new lock on it, above the handle, and Will blinks, raising an eyebrow again as Hannibal steps to one side.

Will presses his lips together, eyeing Hannibal curiously, but fits the key into the lock, turns it and opens the door.

Before this week, the guest room had been fitted much like Hannibal's, with a comfortable bed covered in a rich, purple duvet, cabinets and closets to house a guest for as long as they desired. Now, the room is barren, utterly cleared of carpets and furniture. The white walls and dark wooden floor seem stark in the soft light falling through the parted, heavy black curtains. Even the fireplace seems more like a cavernous void than a welcoming hearth.

Will steps into the room – he knows enough about Hannibal's home to know the difference in décor. He turns around and fixes Hannibal with a questioning look.

"You're gonna have to help me out here," he says with a laugh.

Hannibal smiles, and goes to him, takes Will's hands in his own and turns him around, embracing Will from behind. Will shivers, going lax, idly playing with one of Hannibal's hands where it rests over his heart as Hannibal kisses the warm nape of his neck.

"I know you want to try things that are a little rougher than what we've done so far," he purrs, noting with pleasure as Will's neck breaks out in goose bumps, how he sighs and presses back until Hannibal's cage fits snugly against his ass. "And that you have rightful reservations about thresholds, and boundaries. So I figured why not create a room where those things don't apply?"

Will blinks, once, his brow creasing. He turns his head, eyes on the window, so Hannibal can see when he bites his lower lip.

"In this room," Hannibal murmurs, brushing his lips over Will's quickening pulse, "you are not Will Graham, and I am not Hannibal Lecter."

Will's exhale is shaky. "What are we, then?" he asks.

Hannibal smiles. "Whatever you'd like us to be, my love," he replies, and turns Will in his arms, cupping his face. Will's eyes are bright, eager, his lips parted like he can merely gasp. "This room is yours – you possess the only copy of the key to it." Will's eyes flash, at that, and drop down to the key in his hands. "Decorate it however you'd like, for whatever you'd like us to do. Within it, we can be whatever versions of ourselves we want to be."

Will's eyes rise, and they shine. He swallows, fingers trembling as he lifts his hand and flattens it over Hannibal's chest. His fingers curl, nails digging in, and he presses his lips together and swallows loudly.

"Hannibal, I -."

He stops, shaking his head.

His other hand curls into a fist around the key, and he swallows again. "I love it," he breathes. "Thank you."

Hannibal's smile is wide, and he brings Will in for another kiss, this one more chaste but no less passionate than any they have shared. "I'm so happy you like it, darling," he murmurs. Will nods again, his lips twitching into a wide, off-kilter smile. Hannibal takes his hand, and leads him back out of the room, waiting for Will to lock it. "Are you hungry? I can make you something to eat."

"Um, actually." Will huffs, sheepish, and rubs a hand through his hair. "I'm exhausted. I've slept maybe two hours a night for the past week." Hannibal's mouth turns down – he shall have to exchange harsh words with Jack, if he insists on abusing Will this way for much longer. "I'm about two seconds away from passing out."

"Then rest, darling," Hannibal replies, and gestures to his bedroom. "I only regret I can't join you. I have an appointment in an hour, and must leave soon."

"On a Saturday?" Will says, huffing in displeasure as they go to Hannibal's bedroom. He doesn't voice his worry for his dogs, knowing that Hannibal will have visited them that morning to make sure they were fed, and able to go outside – a burden Hannibal happily shoulders, when Will must go out of town.

Hannibal turns to him, once they're inside, and gives an apologetic shrug. "It's the only time she can see me, unfortunately."

Will hums, but doesn’t protest further. He shrugs off his sweater and tosses it on the back of one of the chairs at the foot of Hannibal's bed, running his hands through his hair before he pulls off his socks and undoes his belt. He turns, catches Hannibal ravenous gaze, and smiles, going to him.

"Then hurry back," he murmurs, and lifts his chin for a kiss that Hannibal eagerly grants him. Will's hand slides down his chest, palms gently at the cage around his cock, and he shivers, pupils flaring wide. Will licks his lips, nostrils flaring, before he nods as though to himself, and fishes out the cage keys from his pocket.

Hannibal shakes his head. "We don't have time -."

"I know," Will says, and goes to his knees so suddenly that Hannibal can't stop him. "But there's something I want you to do for me."

Hannibal's breath catches as Will fits the keyring over his finger, then unbuckles Hannibal's belt. He unfastens the button and pulls down the zip, his shaking fingers betraying how affected he is, as though his scent wasn't doing that already.

Hannibal slides hand into Will's hair – tightens, when Will's warm fingers curl around the bottom of the cage, pulling it free through the hole in his underwear. He cups Hannibal's balls, breathing out heavily as he cradles them. He ducks down, lashes low, and licks up one of the coils, the tease of his tongue like a sudden shard of heat plunged straight into Hannibal's chest.

He shivers, and Will looks up, smile wide enough to show his teeth. He works the keyring free and fits the first one to the first lock, gently unfastening it and easing the coil off of Hannibal's cock. He sets it down, humming as Hannibal starts to fill despite his attempts to control himself. He leans in, tongues delicately at the head of Hannibal's cock, which is already leaking, and Hannibal's hand tightens in his hair.

"Will," he growls, and he doesn't know if it's a warning or a plea for more.

Will smiles, and unfastens the ring, setting it with the rest of the cage. He wraps a warm hand around Hannibal's cock, strokes up, once, and shivers when Hannibal tugs on his hair again.

Then, he rises, and kisses Hannibal deeply, fingers clamping down around the base to ease him back. It's a terrible, torturous thing, and Hannibal feels like Will has a hand around his throat, choking him as he shivers and growls against Will's lovely mouth.

Will gives him a charming smile, his lashes low. "I want you to fuck me when you get home," he purrs, and slides his free hand through Hannibal's hair, mussing it where it falls along his neck. "Whether I'm awake or not."

Hannibal goes still. Blinks once, twice. Will pulls back so they can see each other's faces.

His head tilts. "Would you be okay with that?" he asks. Of course, Will is no stranger to observing Hannibal, especially with these newfound truths between them. Hannibal cannot answer – of course, he appreciates the allure. Having Will as though he were no more than a plaything, to be taken out and used whenever Hannibal desires, he's not innocent to that kind of lust.

But.

Will sighs – not a disappointed sound, but a gentling one, easing Hannibal off the gas. He ducks his head, seeks another kiss, and tucks Hannibal back into his clothes, straightening them as Hannibal kisses back. "You don't have to," he murmurs. "Just wake me up, if it's too much."

Hannibal nods, swallowing, not quite understanding why his mouth is so dry.

"I love you, Will," he says, for it feels like he must.

Will's smile is brilliant, bright with joy. "I love you too," he replies, and pulls Hannibal into another kiss, chaste and full of adoration. "Now go. Heal minds, do good work."

Hannibal laughs, petting through his lover's hair, and watches with fondness as Will stifles a yawn behind his hand, pulls off his clothes until he is only in underwear, and slides happily into his side of the bed. Hannibal goes to him, leans down and kisses his forehead, indulging in a sharp inhale of Will's scent and a nuzzle to his hair.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he murmurs, watching Will's eyelids droop. He hums, and buries his face in his pillow, and breathes out. Hannibal turns off the light when he leaves, and closes the door behind him.

 

 

Though Hannibal has always prided himself on his ability to separate his trains of thought and keep focused, letting himself think of many different things at once, Will's request follows him like a desperate animal, panting at his heels and begging ravenously for attention.

It comes down to this: Will asked for Hannibal to touch him, to penetrate him, while he's asleep. And Hannibal is supremely uncomfortable at that idea. Not, he understands, due to the lack of explicit consent, because Will has given that, but rather when in sleep, Hannibal cannot read him. Will is soft, and sweet, in slumber. He doesn't show Hannibal his eyes, doesn't react with soft gasps and desperate moans when he's asleep. If Hannibal were to touch him like that, he wouldn't know if he was doing something Will doesn't like. He wouldn't know if he went too far.

It's violation. One that Hannibal won't know about until it's too late.

But another, darker part of his mind, the one that lingers on thoughts of Will bloodied and bruised, that wishes he pressed just a little harder whenever he choked Will or raked his nails across Will's back, is perked up at the idea. If Will wants it, it whispers dangerously, then there's no reason to deny themselves.

He thinks about Will, sweet and trusting in his arms. Thinks about the flush that always comes to his cheeks, for no matter how cool the room is, they both emanate heat and cling together under their blankets. Imagines if Will's eyes were to open, blink in shock as Hannibal fucks him. If he might whimper, or moan, show Hannibal another glimpse of that starving animal in his eyes that wants to be taken, to be mounted, no matter what.

His fingers flex in his lap, and he blinks, trying to put his attention back on his patient. She's still talking about her husband's suspected affair. Or maybe it's not so suspected anymore. But with it brings thoughts of Will again, the way he'd touched his neck and looked at Hannibal through low-lidded eyes.

_"God, the way you sounded. I thought you were going to hurt me. I could imagine, another man who got to me first, imagined you hurting him."_

And he hadn't been displeased at the idea. The thought of fighting off another suitor for the right to his mate is a primally satisfying one – though Will is his, Hannibal would never hesitate to remind him of that fact. With teeth, if necessary.

"If your husband's nighttime absences trouble you so much, Darlene, you owe it to yourself, to him, and to your marriage to find the reason behind it," he says on auto-pilot. She'll ignore his advice, like always. She's one of those people who prefers the drama of a dramatic reveal than talking through her marital troubles.

But she nods, and sighs, and starts talking about her daughter's first week in college. Hannibal tries to pay attention, but will admit he's relieved beyond measure when the clock turns to the next hour, and he can dismiss her, and head back home.

 

 

The room smells like Will. It is dark, the curtains drawn, and Hannibal leaves the light off, the door open just long enough for the hallway light to reveal Will's bare shoulder, his halo of unruly hair. He smiles, and shuts the door – he knows his way through his bedroom in the dark, now, after so long before Will let him keep the lights on.

He sheds his jacket, his vest, his tie. Takes off his shoes and unbuttons his shirt, letting it fall over the back of a chair. Undresses the rest of the way, and prowls towards the bed. Will is unmoving, his breathing soft with sleep, even. Not a care in the world. Unaware of the predator creeping into his bed.

Hannibal lifts the sheets and duvet and slides in. For a moment, he hesitates, listens as Will gives a breathless little sigh, shifts his weight, and there's the soft drag of fabric as he nuzzles his pillow before settling again. Poor darling thing, he must be exhausted.

His fingers curl, and he rolls onto his side, finding the natural curve of Will's body and pulling him back. Will hums, but doesn't stir otherwise, happily wriggling back into Hannibal's promised warmth. The scent of him, the heat of him, makes Hannibal react despite himself – too long denied, his cock is hardening already, his hands finding the natural place on Will's jutting hipbones above the waistband of his underwear.

He breathes out, nuzzling Will's soft curls. He smells amazing, like Hannibal now, entrenched in the mixed scents of them in the bed. Like pine, and mint, a wildness in him Hannibal hasn't smelled since the cabin.

He presses his lips together, ducks his head to brush a kiss to Will's bare shoulder and receives another soft, happy sound. He drags one hand back, pushes at Will's underwear until it knots around his thighs, and cups his fingers, sliding them between Will's legs. Will is soft, here, so sweetly tempting. Hannibal's fingers curl up, test his entrance, and he freezes when he feels Will, slick and warm and already stretched.

Given what he knows about Will's rejection of anything inside him that isn't Hannibal, it's a damning sign of just how much Will wants this.

He snarls, quietly. _Delightful boy._

The lubricant is old; Will clearly did this before he went to sleep. But he did it – stretched and slicked himself up so Hannibal would have an easier time. A shiver runs down his spine and he slides his arm underneath Will, pulls him back to his chest, and pushes in with one finger.

Will spasms, whining softly, and Hannibal goes still. Forces himself to push past it, and presses deep, testing the give of Will's tender insides. He's _warm_ , so tight after such long neglect. Hannibal's mouth waters and he kisses Will's flushing neck, growls and nuzzles him as Will clenches around his finger.

He whines again, and Hannibal smiles. "Hush, Will," he murmurs, and kisses the arch of Will's ear. "I'm here."

Will settles with a sigh, knowing Hannibal's touch, his voice. He moans gently, tightening up again as Hannibal works a second finger into him. A tremor runs down his spine, his stomach sinking in, ribs flexing harshly under Hannibal's hand. Hannibal curls his fingers, finds the little nub of Will's prostate and rubs against it. Breathes in, and smells Will's blood sweetening with arousal.

"Good," he purrs, though he's not sure Will can hear him beyond a vague register of his voice. "Relax, darling, just let me take what's mine."

Will moans again, shivering sweetly in his arms. One of Will's hands curls around his pillow, he turns his head and Hannibal hears him bite down on it, muffling his pleased sigh into the fabric. Hannibal smiles, and kisses Will's neck again, his gut tightening with impatience when Will clenches up around his fingers. He's eager, he wants it, and Hannibal's cock is starting to ache.

He pulls his fingers out and pushes at Will's hips, rolling him onto his belly, and climbs between his legs. He wets his fingers and spreads them over his cock, hissing at how sensitive he is. He may not last very long, but that's alright – if Will wants to be used, Hannibal will use him.

He spreads his hands on Will's flanks, holding him steady, and leans over him with a growl. Ruts, until his cockhead catches on Will's hole and he presses in, his forehead between Will's shoulders. Will parts for him with another strangled moan, arching away, and Hannibal's nails tighten, dig in, to hold him still as Hannibal forces his way inside.

Will is tight, unbearably warm, and Hannibal groans as he thrusts deep, seating himself inside of Will's clenching heat. A curse settles behind his teeth as Will trembles, and though he would usually wait, make sure Will was alright before he moved, Will is asleep. And Will wanted this.

He rolls his hips, pulls back and fucks in again, and Will's lungs burst around a breathy exhale. He moans, weakly, nails in his pillow as Hannibal builds up a rhythm, forcing Will to simply lie there and take it. He digs his knees into the mattress, his thighs forcing Will's to spread as much as they can, and he lets go with one hand to wrap around Will, caging him in. He won't be able to get away even if he wanted to.

He breathes out harshly, wrapping one hand around Will's neck – low, not choking, just holding him there, and Will gasps as he fucks in again, his head turned to one side. Hannibal feels his lashes flutter against his cheek, feels his lips part around another soft moan.

Hannibal closes his eyes, his pulse rushing in his chest. Will trusts him so _much_ , the realization hits him like a sucker-punch. He's split open, lying prone just to be used, and still, he sleeps. Because he knows it's Hannibal, trusts Hannibal enough to…. He growls, shuddering neck to knee, fucks in again and waits there, for just a moment, soaking in the feeling of Will's soft, lax heat, breathing in his scent. His sweet, beloved boy, _God_ , Hannibal is the luckiest man in the world.

He cannot be still for long. Hunger, urgent and hot, rears up in his chest, and he digs his nails into Will's flesh and fucks him hard enough that the mattress creaks. Will gives him a soft sigh for each one, unconsciously lifting his hips, rolling his shoulders, letting out gentle, gasping groans from behind his teeth.

Then, his lashes flutter again, and he clamps down _hard_ around Hannibal, driving him to sudden stillness. He moans, weakly, and his hand lifts to lazily paw at Hannibal's hair.

Breathes, wanton and ragged, " _Please_."

Hannibal snarls, wraps his arms around Will's chest and fucks in, delighted as Will tightens around him again, spreads his legs a little wider. He whimpers, a desperate thing, clutching weakly at Hannibal's hair and tugging.

" _Fuck_ ," he whispers, and tilts his head, showing Hannibal his neck. Hannibal takes the invitation eagerly; bites, just to feel Will shiver. " _God_ , yeah, fuck -." He goes silent when Hannibal tightens his arms, rakes his nails down Will's chest and then up, over his neck.

"Sweet boy," Hannibal purrs, nuzzling Will's throat, up through his hair. Will stinks of him now – good, as it should be. He grabs Will's hip, coaxes him to lift so Hannibal can fuck deeper, with more force. "Be still, darling. Let me take this lovely gift you offered me."

Will trembles, breathing out harshly. He nods, whimpering again as Hannibal presses deep and rolls his hips. Feels when he hits Will's prostate, and Will is rutting now, grinding his cock down onto the mattress. Hannibal can smell his precum, salty and sharp.

" _Hannibal_ ," he moans, turns his head and presses harsh against the pillow. "Mm, _fuck_ , you're gonna make me come."

Hannibal smiles. "Good," he purrs, raking his nails along Will's throat. Will gasps, tightening around him again, his thighs shaking and trying to pull together. "My sweet boy. You like this, don't you? Like the thought of me taking what's mine." Will whines, and nods. Hannibal growls. "And you are mine, aren't you, darling?" Will nods again and Hannibal snarls, bites sharply at his neck. "Say it."

"I am," Will gasps, groaning as Hannibal fucks him. They're both sweating now, bodies sliding slickly together under the heat of the blankets. Hannibal fists a hand in his hair, tugs sharply, and Will cries out. His fingers flex, his arms stretch up, bracing himself against the headboard. "I'm yours, all yours, _fuck_ , daddy, _please_."

Hannibal closes his eyes, rubs his nose along Will's sweaty nape. His claws dig in. He rears back, pulling Will to his knees, and his upper lip twitches, hands going to Will's shoulders to keep him down.

"Stay just like that," he whispers, petting down Will's heaving back. "Good boy. Stay nice and still while daddy breeds you."

"Oh, _fuck_." Will is starting to bear down, just on the edge, _almost_. He whines, trembling, spasming as Hannibal ruts against his ass, teasing him. Will runs a hand through his hair, tugging, shakes when Hannibal grabs his hips harshly.

He tilts his head back, sighing heavily, eyes closing against his will as he starts to come. He brushes a thumb along Will's rim, idly checking to make sure nothing comes out – a sentiment Will must understand, because he shivers and moans, lowering his chest further and rutting back until the backs of his thighs meet Hannibal's.

Hannibal smiles, purring, and forces Will's hips forward, then tugging him back. Will moans – a fucked-out, desperate sound, spasming around Hannibal's cock as he fills him. After so long, Hannibal has a lot to give. Will can't possibly keep it all in, and he delights in the idea of watching his lover squirm, his lovely eyes dark at the reminder as it leaks back out of him.

He presses himself over Will, shivering as he releases another load inside of him. Will moans, turning his head, seeking a kiss as Hannibal cups his jaw and lets their lips meet. His other hand slides down Will's stomach. Doesn't touch his cock, but he can feel the slick of precum there from Will's grinding.

"Feel that, darling?" he murmurs, smiling when Will whines. He nuzzles his sweat-damp hair, presses on his stomach until Will goes tense. He pulls back, sinks in again, and Will whimpers. His come has made Will feel impossibly wet on the inside, and he shivers, growling when Will clenches up around him. "Work yourself back onto me, good boy, just like that."

Will sighs, gently, stretching out and rolling his hips to get Hannibal as deep inside him as he can. Helpless to stop it, a little of Hannibal's come leaks out, smearing between their thighs, and he moans, eyes closing as Hannibal slides a hand down, gathers it on his fingers, and wraps them around Will's hard cock.

It only takes a few strokes for Will to come, and he bites the pillow and muffles his groan, shaking as he does. Hannibal smiles, letting go of Will and slicking his dirty hand up his stomach, smearing the mess, spreading scent.

He pulls out with a wince, covering Will and pressing him down onto the mattress. Will rolls in his arms, wrapping himself around Hannibal with another sigh. He lifts his chin for a kiss, presses one to Hannibal's jaw, then his mouth, shivering when Hannibal kisses him back and slides his dirty hand through Will's hair.

Will is smiling, and Hannibal kisses him once more, before they roll onto their sides. Will presses close to him, letting out another tired, pleased sound, and nuzzles Hannibal's chest. He makes no move to correct his clothes, and his thighs slide between Hannibal's, coiling together.

He sighs. "I know that was hard for you," he murmurs. Hannibal hums, wrapping him in his arms, tugging him close. He presses his lips to Will's forehead, breathes him in. "Thank you."

Hannibal smiles. "It was certainly a new experience," he says. "Not an unpleasant one."

Will huffs, shaking his head under the guise of nuzzling closer. "Still," he says. "I know how careful you are, how careful you've always been with me, from the beginning, even with the…normal stuff." His fingers curl on Hannibal's flank, absently petting up and down. "Explicit consent matters a lot to you."

"It should matter to everyone," Hannibal says, trying and failing to keep the petulance out of his voice.

Will laughs. "Yes, it should."

He makes a sleepy sound, burrowing ever-closer, and Hannibal smiles. "Would you like to sleep some more, darling?"

"Mm." Will shifts his weight, tugs his underwear back into place, and sighs. Wraps an arm around Hannibal again. "Stay."

"I'm not going anywhere."

 

 

Although Hannibal normally makes it a habit to wake up before Will on the weekends, so that he might prepare coffee and a hearty breakfast for them both, the previous day and the sweetness of Will finally back in his arms compels him to stay in bed with Will, well past the evening and into the bright dawn of Sunday morning. Will sleeps on, utterly relaxed and sated and trusting, and Hannibal is at once overwhelmed with love for him, and aggravated that he's clearly so exhausted by his job.

Perhaps what they need is a long vacation. They could go somewhere far away, where there are beaches and long sunsets and beautiful places to see everywhere they go. Italy, perhaps, or Spain, or Mexico – somewhere warm, Hannibal thinks, and smiles to himself when he pictures Will, golden and tan, sprawled out along some white-sanded beach and basking like a sunning cat under the warm sun.

He pulls Will closer to him. Will has rolled onto his side, facing away, and he fits so nicely against Hannibal's chest, curled up like a dozing kitten, just as sweet and warm. Hannibal slides a hand down his arm, laces their fingers together, and nuzzles the back of his neck.

Will stirs with a sleepy noise, turns his head and touches his nose to Hannibal's. He smiles. "Mornin'," he murmurs, slurring the word.

"Good morning, Will," Hannibal replies.

Will lifts their joined hands, stifling a yawn. "How long did I sleep?"

"It's…" Hannibal turns, just long enough to read the clock. "Just past six in the morning. Sunday."

"Damn." Will flops back onto the pillow, sighing. His fingers flex and curl between Hannibal's. "More wiped out than I thought."

Hannibal hums, simply glad that Will feels better. He's blinking now, gathering alertness, and stretches. "Perhaps, if you have enough free days, you and I might go somewhere. For longer than a weekend." Will smiles, turns his head again to kiss Hannibal's jaw.

"Like a trip?" Will says, and he sounds happy about that idea. "Where would we go?"

"It's a new idea, one I have only just started considering, but I was thinking…somewhere warm. With a beach."

"I'm not wearing a Speedo, if that's where you're going with this."

Hannibal laughs, and shakes his head. "No, darling," he purrs, and kisses Will's warm, flushed neck. "I wouldn't give anyone else the satisfaction of seeing that much skin."

Will huffs another laugh, and stretches, this time his arms spreading out in front of him, pulling Hannibal against his back. He sighs, going lax, lashes fluttering, and pulls Hannibal's hand to his mouth. Brushes, idly, Hannibal's knuckles against his lips.

"What color do you like most?" he asks, and Hannibal's head tilts. "Silver or gold?"

How Will decided to ask that question, Hannibal doesn't know, but Will has always skipped from lily pad to lily pad – his thoughts are not train tracks, but come to him in bright sparks of intuition and brilliance. He purses his lips, considering.

"Gold, I think," he replies, thinking of the old, beautiful buildings where he spent his youth. Will hums.

"Blue or red?"

Hannibal smiles. Thinks of blue-black bruises sucked to Will's neck. Touches the pretty blush on his shoulder with his lips. "Red."

"Black or white?"

He laughs. "Black," he says. "What are you planning, darling?"

Will lifts a shoulder, and rolls in his arms, facing him with another smile. He leans in, kisses chastely at the corner of Hannibal's mouth, and shakes his head. Bites his lower lip, and murmurs, "Just asking. What's your absolute favorite color?"

Hannibal regards him, head tilted. Even with the curtains drawn, he can see the shine of Will's eyes. He cups Will's face. "If you promise not to make fun of me, I'll tell you." Will tilts his head, gaze sharpening. "Your eyes change color – sometimes blue, sometimes green. Even, I've noticed, flecks of gold and brown when you haven't seen sun in a while." Will's expression changes, a flustered mix of embarrassment and humility; a flash of intrigue. "When you're happy, though, they are…brilliantly blue. Like a cloudless sky. That's my favorite."

Will blushes, deeply, and Hannibal's smile widens. "Ah, there's my second favorite," he murmurs, thumbing the delicate flush on his cheeks. "Such a lovely pink, like rare meat." Will shivers, arching closer.

"You are very good at bringing out that color in me," he replies. "Both of them."

"And for that, I am supremely glad," Hannibal purrs. His head tilts, humoring; "And you, Will? What's your favorite color?"

Will hums, biting his lower lip. His eyes drop down, his hand sliding through the hair on Hannibal's chest, curling above his sternum.

"I like dark blue," he murmurs. "Like, really dark. Almost black. And silver." Hannibal nods, sliding a hand through Will's hair, petting it back from his face. "And…I don't know, there's probably a specific name for it, but that winter green. That pine trees have."

Wild colors; oceans and forests. Of course.

"Perhaps you'd like to paint your room one of those colors," he suggests.

Will hums, and shakes his head. "Too dark for all four walls," he replies, head tilted, considering. He lifts his eyes. "Maybe one of them, though."

Hannibal smiles, and, unable to resist a moment longer, draws him in for a kiss. "Whatever you desire."

 

 

Throughout the next week, Hannibal comes home to a lot of broken down cardboard boxes. Despite his burning curiosity, he resists investigating them for labels and packing information, instead smiling to himself when he hears Will moving around inside their play room to be. Some of them are quite large, others no bigger than his hand. Occasionally Will sends him links to websites like the one with the cages and cock rings, asking for him to choose his favorites, and another box will arrive. His mind races at the possibilities, for Will's links are certainly eclectic; gags, floggers, furniture, they all pass through their text message chain.

Will doesn't put him back in the cage. It seems his own mind is too full of ideas, endless possibilities – he calls Hannibal to bed every night he's there, drags nails across Hannibal's shoulders and spreads his legs, begging Hannibal to fuck him as often as possible. The scent of him is so deeply embedded in Hannibal's house, now, like he lives there too, and Hannibal finds that thought incredibly satisfying.

He smells paint, one day, and when he comes home Will emerges from the kitchen, cheeks flushed and eyes bright with joy. He greets Hannibal with a kiss and a glass of wine, both of which are eagerly accepted, and pulls Hannibal into the dining room.

"Sit," he commands, and Hannibal obeys. Will grins at him, cheeks dimpling, and kisses his forehead. "I made dinner."

Hannibal's brows lift, but before he can ask, Will disappears again. He seems full of frantic energy, much more settled and relaxed than he had been when last called for Jack. He smiles to himself, considering the wine instead – it's a white, and would go well with pork or fish.

Will returns a moment later, carrying two plates, and sets them down before taking his seat. Hannibal blinks, seeing in front of him an offering of fish – freshly caught, by the smell of it, beheaded and gutted, on a generous bed of grilled cherry tomatoes and asparagus. He smells lemon, rosemary, olive oil. It smells wonderful.

"Did you catch this yourself?" he asks.

Will smiles, and nods, taking his fork as Hannibal takes his. Hannibal works his fork under the crisp, blackened skin, spears a mouthful of tender flesh and brings it to his lips. It tastes fantastic, the mild flavor of the fish complimented by the sharpness of asparagus juice and lemon. He gives a little huff of pleasure, sees Will positively beaming at having his offer accepted. Hannibal can imagine him, standing in that slow-moving river near his house, patient and calm as he waits for the inevitable bite. Will has always been a fantastic fisherman.

"This is delicious, Will, thank you," he says, and squeezes Will's free hand. Will flushes with pleasure, bright-eyed. He reminds Hannibal of one of his happy animals, tail wagging and hindquarters raised, asking for play.

They eat for a while in silence, simply enjoying each other's company and the fine food. The tomatoes are wonderfully cooked as well, bursting with heat when Hannibal eats them, coating his tongue. Almost mushy, but pleasantly so, held together by their thin skins.

When dinner is done, Will sits back with a sigh, running his hand through his hair. Normally food makes Will go lax and low-lidded, simply purring and fine as he waits for dessert, or their nightcap, or to move to the study so they might enjoy each other in lower light, but tonight he seems full of manic energy. Hannibal can hear his knee jogging beneath the table.

He tilts his head, brows lifting, and Will meets his eyes. "Are you alright, darling?"

"Yeah," Will replies, sheepish. He takes Hannibal's hand, squeezes gently. "Sorry. I'm just…excited. The room's almost done."

Hannibal smiles. "I'm eager to see your final design."

Will bites his lower lip. Sucks in a breath, his eyes dropping to their interlaced fingers. He drags his thumb into Hannibal's palm, presses where it becomes the base of his knuckles. "I know exactly what I want to do," he murmurs. Hannibal lets out an eager, encouraging noise. "I have…so many ideas. Some shit I just bought because it looked cool, but…" A tremor runs down him, and Hannibal blinks.

He settles his other hand over Will's, and Will meets his eyes. "Will, as I said before, there's very little I wouldn't be interested in trying with you." He smiles. "And I'm more than capable of voicing if something's not working for me. Anything you want to try, we can try, and if it doesn't work, then we can say we've tried it and move on."

Will nods – once, a single jerk of his head. His fingers flex between Hannibal's.

"There's…something I mentioned, a while ago, before…" He gestures vaguely. "All this."

Hannibal's head tilts.

"I wanted to have you in the cage, and massage you. Like, a prostate massage." Hannibal remembers – and oh, what a night that had been. The first night Will let him leave the lights on. The first night Hannibal can say he knew he would never love anything as much as he loves Will. "I bought a massager. I know you haven't been wearing the cage for a while but I'd…like to try that, first. When the room's ready."

Hannibal nods, smiling.

"Do you -? Have you ever done anything like that before?" Will asks, and meets his eyes again.

"I've certainly had my fair share of giving prostate stimulation," Hannibal replies with a meaningful grin, delighted when Will flushes, squirming in his seat. "If it feels half as good as you make it look, I'm sure I'll enjoy it."

Will nods again, breathing in deeply.

"I want to do it like we did before," he says. "In front of the fire. The fireplace in that room works, I've tested it." He seems nervous, like Hannibal would shy away from the idea of Will touching him like that, would reject the notion that Will might be just as strong, just as capable of taking care of him as Hannibal is of taking care of Will.

Hannibal lifts his hand, kissing his knuckles. "When do you think the room will be ready?"

Will's eyes flash, and darken. "Paint's drying. I'm not expecting any more deliveries. So, tomorrow? Unless it still hurts your nose."

Hannibal smiles, when Will's eyes dart down to their empty plates. He laughs. "Was this meant to be some sort of bribe, darling?"

Will flushes, bites his lower lip, and looks away with another sheepish smile.

Hannibal laughs again. So sweet, so delightful, his Will. "Will, believe me when I say this; you don't need to butter me up to get me to do something that brings you pleasure." Will nods, accepting that with another soft breath. Hannibal stands, gathers their plates, and kisses Will's forehead. "Now, unless you'd like to use me tonight, darling, you'd better go get that cage, or else I may ravish you where you sit."

Will gasps, looking up, his pupils wide. He rises, a spark of indecision flashing across his face as he eyes the empty table, before he swallows, fixes Hannibal with a look that is dark with promise, and practically runs from the dining room to fetch the cage.

 

 

The next night, they approach the room together. Will's hands shake with anticipation, and he pauses with the key in the lock, and turns to meet Hannibal's eyes.

"Tell me if you want to change anything," he says, and Hannibal nods, keeping silent. He can tell Will is nervous, it coats him like a fever-sweet aftertaste. His neck is red, flushed with anticipation and anxiety, and Hannibal reaches out, smoothing a hand across his nape in a way he knows never fails to make Will go lax.

"Open the door, darling," he murmurs.

Will sucks in a shaky breath, nods, and twists the key, pushing the door open. He has attached it to the keyring for Hannibal's cage, and leaves the keys in the lock as they step inside.

Hannibal blinks, eyes widening. Will has painted the wall around the fireplace a bright blue, the same blue as a cloudless summer sky, just as Hannibal said was his favorite color. The opposite wall is darker, almost black, and set against it is…

"Oh," he breathes.

Will has certainly outdone himself. There are hooks in the walls, high enough for one of them to have their hands bound above their heads. There's a thick-padded black leather cross, braced against the corner, and at each end of it is a leather cuff, also black, the chain attachments a soft gold. There's a bench, sitting sideways on the dark wall, set on lockable wheels, that is slightly angled down where one might lie, with separate rests for knees, spread wide apart. A breeding bench. Hannibal's breath catches.

There is a little cabinet, and he goes to it, opening it to see all the floggers and gags and other toys Will sent him for opinions on, neatly arranged like Will's fishing supplies. Next to it, a veritable hoard of pillows and thick cushions on the floor – a place to recover, or sleep.

In front of the fireplace, Will has laid out another pallet. Hannibal sees the corner of a camping mat, covered in a thick duvet, and lying atop it, a faux animal pelt, dark grey and mottled brown. The fire is lit, and the room smells of leather and vaguely of paint, lingering. Through it all, Will.

He turns, finding Will leaning against the closed door, his head ducked almost shyly, hands behind his back.

"What do you think?" he asks.

Hannibal is speechless. In the second drawer of the cabinet are coils of rope. In the third…

Hannibal sucks in a breath. Will has raided his own bedside cabinet, found the things Hannibal kept hidden from him. The mask that they never did end up using, Hannibal's silicone cock ring, the gleaming leather of the chest harness, as well as new things he doesn't recognize – plugs and vibrators with remote controls.

He closes the last drawer, and looks at Will. Will is meeting his eyes, now, and they are so very dark.

"It's beautiful," he says, and Will's lips twitch in a smile. He straightens, confidence returning, and swallows. "Will, I -."

"No." Will shakes his head, steps forward and puts a hand on Hannibal's chest. "Don't speak."

Hannibal swallows, and bows his head in a deferential nod. This is Will's room, and Will's fantasy, and Hannibal is ravenous with the need to see it fulfilled.

Will smiles, eyes flashing, sensing Hannibal's surrender. He leans in, lifts his chin and steals a single, chaste kiss. Their lips cling when they part, and Will breathes out, the last of his hesitation melting from him.

"Get undressed," he commands. "And lay on the pallet."

Hannibal nods, heart already rushing as he hastens to obey. Will turns away from him and crouches in front of the fire, lighting it until the room is filled with the golden, happy light of the flames. He moves to turn the lights off, swamping them in shadows. Hannibal shivers, gut clenching with anticipation as he unbuttons his shirt, shrugging it off, and folds it, placing it on top of the cabinet. He removes his belt and socks, balling them up and placing them beside.

Then, his suit pants and underwear, and he can feel Will's eyes on him, feel the power of his presence. He folds the rest of his clothes and adds them to the pile, and then goes to the pallet, dropping to his knees, first, and then rolling onto his side. He hears Will's shaky exhale, hears him move. The fire is just close enough to warm his skin, but not to burn.

Then, Will's heat behind him. Hannibal can smell the bottle of lubricant as he opens it, but doesn't pour it out yet.

Will sighs, and reaches for Hannibal, rolling him onto his back. He climbs atop him, thighs spreading out on either side of Hannibal's hips, the bulge of his cock grinding gently, just for a moment, along the bottom of Hannibal's cage before he settles. He looks wild in this light, hair unkempt, cheeks red, eyes bright. He's beautiful.

Hannibal reaches for him, needing so desperately to touch, but Will catches his wrists, shakes his head with a smile.

He leans over Hannibal, and presses his hands to the top edge of the pelt. It's warm, a tender, teasing brush of fur against Hannibal's skin, and Will tightens his grip around Hannibal's wrists, pressing down to be sure Hannibal understands the order.

Leans, for good measure, and kisses the words to his mouth; "Keep them there."

Hannibal nods, breathless, enthralled with the enchanting beast that looms over him. Will smiles, glowing with eagerness, and kisses Hannibal again.

"If you speak out of turn, I'm going to stop," he says – a warning and a reminder that Hannibal can end this as soon as he needs to. Hannibal nods again, swallowing harshly, and Will hums, sliding his hands down Hannibal's arms, nails dragging in a light tease. Hannibal isn't a masochist, not like Will, but _oh_ , it feels good, just the tease of Will's claws as they touch his vulnerable, exposed skin.

Will sighs, nuzzles him for one last kiss, and then pulls back. Shifts down, and brushes his lips gently along Hannibal's collarbone. His shoulders arch and roll, like Hannibal is touching his neck – he wants to, wants to so desperately. His fingers curl so that he doesn't.

"I love you, so much," Will breathes, parts his lips and kisses open-mouthed and wet at Hannibal's shoulder, where his pinned arms make the line of muscle sharp. "I don't think I even realized just how much until, well." He shakes his head, smiles, touches his lips to Hannibal's chest, hands flattening now, sliding down to his waist as though he needs to hold Hannibal still, to keep him from trying to crawl away. "Maybe it was the night you bit me. Maybe the night you let me put the cage on you."

Both nights, vivid in Hannibal's memory.

"I don't know what to call what I feel for you, Hannibal," Will murmurs. His head tilts, and he teases a canine along Hannibal's nipple. Clamps down, sucking for just a moment, as Hannibal shivers and arches beneath him. "It's too wild to call devotion, too solid to be called hunger. Even 'love', with all that means, doesn't seem like enough." He sighs. "Maybe I'll have to settle for that."

His moves down further, cheeks rubbing through the hair on Hannibal's chest, then down. He plants another open-mouthed kiss to the lowest rib, on the left, his fingers curling around Hannibal's hips. Lifts, just so Hannibal can feel the hot, hard swell of him against his cage. He swallows, a soft moan stuck behind his teeth, his stomach sinking in and ribcage too tight when Will tilts his head up and meets his eyes.

"You're so good to me," he whispers, thumbs brushing over the line of Hannibal's hips, then in, through his pubic hair until he touches the slip of skin between the cock ring and the cage. "You give me everything I ask, anything I could possibly need, just because you love me." At that, his shoulders go slack, he bows his head and breathes in. "I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel, all the time."

Whisper-soft; "I want to be around you all the time. Even when I'm feeling at my worst, you look at me and…" He trails off, even now unable to totally voice it. But Hannibal understands – he knows, because Will is beautiful and sweet and strong and deadly in his own right. Wild, diamond-cut, timeless. Hannibal feels immortal when Will touches him.

Will straightens up, biting his lower lip. "I got a toy for this," he says, and Hannibal sucks in a breath, "but I think I'd rather use my fingers." His head tilts. "You alright with that?"

Hannibal nods eagerly. "Will -."

"Ah, no." Will's eyes flash, and he rears up, pressing his hand gently but firmly over Hannibal's mouth. "No. Speak when spoken to." He waits until Hannibal nods, and then he smiles, and rewards him with a kiss.

Hannibal's lips part, desperate to taste him. He has seen evidence of Will's control, his dominant side flaring up in bursts of heat, but this digs into him like nails from the fire, stirring a part of his brain that, until now, has been left slumbering, dormant. Now it's attentive, called to heel.

"Good," Will purrs. He sits back, shifts his weight, and presses his knees between Hannibal's thighs, forcing him to spread his legs. He reaches for the lube bottle, his hands no longer shaking. "Tell me if it doesn't feel good, but other than that I don't wanna hear a word outta you 'til I'm done, got it?"

Hannibal nods, utterly breathless now. He spreads his legs and lifts his hips in readiness.

Will growls, upper lip twitching, and wets his fingers before setting the bottle to one side. His free hand settles on Hannibal's knee, sliding in, gently petting over the tense muscle as he lifts and separates Hannibal's legs. His other hand dips, slides behind Hannibal's balls, back. Hannibal closes his eyes, tipping his head back with a breathless sigh as Will's slick fingers brush over his rim.

"It feels so good when you do this for me," Will says, quietly over the crackling of the fire. Hannibal is burning already, his skin beading in a fine sweat as Will drags his fingertips around the tight, dry muscle, getting him wet. He huffs a strained laugh. "Seriously, I had no idea – no idea how _fucking_ good -."

He pushes in with one finger, and Hannibal growls, tightening up in reflex before his conscious thought can override it. Will pauses, pets over his thigh, and Hannibal breathes in deeply through his nose, takes in charcoal and wood and Will, and relaxes.

He meets Will's eyes, his own gaze feels too sharp, but he nods, giving Will the reassurance he needs. Will's lips twitch in a smile, and he turns his head, kissing the side of Hannibal's knee. Shows his teeth, and presses on.

"Fuck, you're tight," he says, like he doesn't quite believe it. His lashes dip low, fanning long shadows over his cheeks. Hannibal thinks of fey creatures, of gods renowned for their beauty, and knows none of them could compare to Will. His arms flex, fingers curling above his head, and he lifts his hips in encouragement as Will presses deeper, until the webbing of his fingers stops him. The nails of his free hand dig in, drag.

Will makes a sound; wounded, wanting. His eyes are fixed raptly between Hannibal's legs. He's sure Will can't see where his finger is, the shadows too dark and unyielding, but Hannibal's cage gleams in the firelight, his cock pressed up tight to the coils, aching for release. Such is Will's power over him. He kisses Hannibal, higher on his thigh this time, and drags his finger back, curled up until Hannibal feels like he's being touched at the very base of his cock.

He gasps, growling as Will presses in again. It's a tease, not quite enough, but Hannibal has been ordered to silence, so he wraps his other leg around Will's thighs, digs in with his heels and hopes Will gets the idea.

He does; he flashes his teeth and lets out a soft laugh. It's a pleased, happy sound. He pulls his finger almost all the way out and works in the tip of a second, pressing in again. The entrance burns, an intrusion Hannibal wants to buck against, but he remains still, heart pounding, pulse rushing in his ears, chest expanding with rapid, heavy breathes as Will pushes into him again.

Then, his fingers curl, up, up, drag back, and Hannibal moans.

Will's nails dig in tighter to his thigh. "There you are," he snarls, eyes dark, hair fallen forward now. Wild, unruly, unrepentantly turned on. Hannibal can smell him, overpowering all else, the salt of leaking precum, the sweetness in Will's blood. He wants to bite, wants to taste. Wants to _touch_.

Will's fingers sink all the way in, thick and undeniable, and Hannibal's breath leaves him in a punched-out growl as Will finds his prostate. It is not a jerk of sensation, but crests on him like a deep wave, rushing up his spine in a roll of heat that takes root at the base of his neck.

Will lifts his eyes, smiles wide and awed. "Good?"

Hannibal nods.

"Mm. Good, that's good, baby," he purrs, and does it again. And again, until Hannibal feels like he can barely control his breathing. He feels too loud in this intimate space, raggedly speared and torn apart by Will's hands. Will kisses his knee, shushes him, petting down the outside of his thigh. "I know, I know exactly how it feels."

Will's name sits in his throat, taut on his tongue, pressed against his teeth. Hannibal groans again, gasps as Will presses in deep and rubs his fingers in little circles around the gland, and Hannibal knows from a biological standpoint what he's doing, he understands the way it's supposed to feel – has even felt it before – but the way Will is looking at him, the sheer fact that it's _Will_ doing this, is driving him dangerously close to madness.

He grits his teeth, moans again, tugs at the tip of the pallet until it bends, bunching at the top of his head.

Will laughs, but allows it. Hannibal can smell his own precum, feels his forced-flaccid cock leaking over his balls, soaking the cage, soaking Will's wrist. Will twists his fingers and keeps pressing, his arm tightening as Hannibal starts to writhe in earnest. He can't stop himself, can't control the flex of his thighs, the urgent rise of his hips, the pounding of his heart.

Another wave rises, and then another on the back of its brother, building until Hannibal's spine doesn't feel like bone anymore, but heat, and he's sweating, fur sticking to his skin and making him want to rut like a beast. He blinks at the ceiling, tips his head back as Will keeps him still, forces him to stay in place, drags his fingers in a 'Come here' motion that makes every part of Hannibal scream.

He's not in control of the noises he makes, now – and they are many, cresting in moans, breathed out in low growls and punched-out gasps. Will is watching him openly now, eyes fixed on his face, breathless and flushed and awed at having Hannibal at his mercy.

Though, Hannibal is starting to think, Will is far from merciful.

Will's mouth twitches in a smile, like he can hear Hannibal's thoughts. "Just wait," he purrs, and turns his head, biting Hannibal's thigh lightly. "It's about to get so much better."

He works in a third finger, spreading them wide and able, now, to push in that much deeper, brush right over Hannibal's prostate in a harsh swipe, and Hannibal gasps, arches, drags his heels against the pelt and now his sounds are more like whines – desperate, breathy things he's never made in his life. The sound of it makes Will gasp, lashes fluttering in surprised pleasure, and he bites his lower lip hard, slides his free hand down to Hannibal's hip and holds fast, presses deep.

It is not like a normal orgasm. Not a sudden swoop down, a blinding stab of pleasure, and a short but satisfying release. Rather, Hannibal is overcome with a feeling lighter than air, wave after wave of heat that has nothing to do with the fire. It melts his spine, chars his lungs, and he stutters, stalls, tightening up around Will's hand in a series of vicious clamps.

Will huffs, smile wide and feral. "That's it, baby. Let go."

Hannibal's entire body goes lax, twitching in pleasure. He lets go of the pallet and bites down on his tongue so he doesn't shout Will's name, freezes and hitches and moans as Will keeps touching him, and his other hand is around Hannibal's cage, now, gently massaging his balls and his perineum.

It builds again, and Hannibal is awash with it, aware only of the slick sound of Will's fingers moving around and within him, Will's heavy exhale, the sight of his parted lips as he stares down at Hannibal, watching. Every brush against his prostate brings a harsh judder, and wince, and finally he releases one soft, breathless whimper of overstimulation.

Will stops immediately, pulling his fingers out. Hannibal can't be still – his hips roll and he aches, desperately, somehow satisfied to the bone and ravenous beyond measure. He lowers his arms to his sides, petting absently over his own chest, his heaving stomach, as Will breathes raggedly and watches him writhe.

Then, he can't take it anymore. He rises up, wraps his hands around Will's nape and pulls him into a savage kiss. Will falls against him immediately, breathless and weak and wanton, and Hannibal lets him go, clings to Will with teeth and tongue, and fumbles roughly at his sweatpants until he can wrap a hand around Will.

Will stiffens, shivering, and moans softly against his mouth.

"Will," he breathes, and leans back, wrapping his legs around Will's waist. "Please."

Will's eyes flash, widen. He flattens his hands to the pelt on either side of Hannibal, instinctively catching himself. Hannibal lifts his hips, trembling though he is, and growls when he feels Will brush through the slick between his legs.

Will doesn't ask if he's sure. He knows better by now. He bows down, wraps his arms around Hannibal's shoulders and kisses him, before he reaches back, flattens his hands to the underside of Hannibal's thighs, lifts and folds him. His cock ruts, drags in a desperate brush along Hannibal's cage, and then he growls, bares his teeth, and sinks inside in one smooth thrust.

Hannibal is sensitive, and jerks with another sharp stab of pleasure, but he clings to Will as Will folds him, panting, kissing heavy and uncoordinated at his jaw, his mouth, his neck, anywhere he can reach. Will drips with sweat, shudders and groans louder even than Hannibal. He only lasts a few thrusts, but each one is a sucker-punch, like the gradual burn of spice before it become unbearable.

He fucks in deep, goes still, and trembles as he comes, breathing harshly against Hannibal's neck. It's a good thing Will is strong, because Hannibal has no strength left, and as soon as Will pulls out, they collapse together in a heap of tangled, sweaty limbs. Will is motionless beside him, on his back, staring up dazed at the ceiling.

Then, he runs a hand through his hair, and huffs a shaky laugh. "Holy fucking _shit_."

Hannibal tries to smile, but can't quite make his lips obey. He rolls, instead, even the soft pelt beneath him making his skin scream with oversensitivity, but he cannot bear to be parted from Will for another second. He wraps Will in his arms, shivering as Will embraces him in turn, petting over his back.

"Gently, darling," he whispers, and though he hasn't said much at all tonight, his voice is hoarse.

Will stills immediately, hands settling on Hannibal's flanks. He lifts his chin, kisses chastely, and looks at Hannibal with nothing short of adoration.

They don't speak. They don't need to. Hannibal only lets Will go long enough to fetch one of the blankets from the nest in the corner, and drapes it over both of them, and they settle together on the pallet, remaining there long past the point where the fire dies down.

 

 

"Hey, Hannibal?"

Hannibal turns, smiling as he sees Will traipse into the kitchen, looking bedraggled and sleepy and utterly adorable. He embraces Will gently, an arm around his shoulders, and kisses his temple as Will huffs, noses at him, and reaches for the coffee maker.

"Good morning, my love," he purrs, noting with pleasure as Will flushes, grinning down at his mug. "How are you?"

"Awesome." He pauses, taking a sip, and says, "I've been thinking about something."

Hannibal nods, returning his attention to the scramble he'd been making for Will. Releasing Will is no small feat, but he manages, choosing instead to steal glances out of the corner of his eye, taking in Will's bitten, marked neck. The fine bruising around his wrists from the cuffs. They don't spend every evening in the play room, of course not – Hannibal enjoys Will in all facets, not just the darker ones. Though he will admit the breeding bench is fast becoming his favorite thing in that room.

Will clears his throat, lifts his chin. "I think I want to go to Italy," he says. Hannibal blinks at him, smiling widely. "You always talk about it, and it sounds amazing. I really want to go."

"I'd be happy to take you," Hannibal replies happily, flipping the eggs. "When do you think you'll be able to have the time off?"

Will is quiet, for a moment, before he says. "Autumn, maybe?"

Hannibal hums, lips tugging down at the corners. So far away.

"Not sooner?"

"Well."

Will is silent again, for long enough that Hannibal finishes their breakfast, plates it, and turns off the burner. He regards Will, finds him shifting his weight, staring down resolutely at his coffee. Nervousness coats him again, in a way it hasn't since their first night in the play room. Hannibal's brows lift.

"I was, well, I was thinking that maybe…" He sets his mug down, shoulders rolling, and reaches into the pocket of his sweatpants. Pulls out something small enough to fit in his fist. Meets Hannibal's eyes at the corner, and swallows.

He breathes out, and sets the contents of his fist on the counter. Hannibal's eyes widen. It's a ring – not a cock ring, certainly not large enough. A thick golden band, sitting there, gleaming in the morning light.

"It would give us time to…plan," Will says, clearing his throat. "Maybe like a honeymoon trip or something."

Hannibal is silent. Speechless.

"I'm not big on grand gestures," Will explains, and finally turns to face him fully. "I can get down on one knee if you want."

Hannibal shakes his head, reaches out and takes the ring delicately. His fingers flex, and he slips it onto his left hand. It fits perfectly.

He smiles.

"So this is what you meant, when you were asking gold or silver," he says. Will nods, fingers curling in front of his stomach. "It's beautiful."

"I don't want to be 'That Guy', but you haven't technically said 'Yes' or 'No' yet."

Hannibal laughs. Turns, and embraces Will, kissing him fiercely. "Of course I'll marry you, darling," he says, and Will huffs, his smile wide and relieved. "Did you really think I would say 'No'?"

"No," Will says, shaking his head. "But I also would have killed you if you asked first, and I figured you would, you know, want to ask first. Maybe tell me 'No' just so you could get your own proposal in."

Oh, his sweet, beautiful, utterly _devious_ Will. Hannibal's smile widens, and he kisses Will again, unable to help himself. "Yes," he says, and Will smiles, lets out a happy noise against his neck. Hannibal slides a hand through Will's hair, clutching him to his chest.

"Good," Will murmurs, and pulls back, petting his shoulders. "I'm not entirely cruel, though. You can plan the announcement, or the party, whatever you want." He heaves a dramatic sigh. "I place my future entirely in your hands."

Hannibal grins. "Deal," he replies, and kisses Will again. "But you have to tell Alana."

"Oh God," Will says, eyes widening in mock horror. "I take it back. I take it all back."

Hannibal laughs. "Sorry, darling, I think I must insist on keeping this for the rest of my life. And giving you one of your own, of course."

Will smiles, bright, his eyes that beautiful happy blue. Hannibal sighs, cupping his face, and doesn't miss how Will goes lax, turning to nuzzle against the ring quickly warming on his finger.

"I love you, Will," Hannibal says.

Will hums. "I love you too," he replies, and noses Hannibal's wrist. "Now feed me. I'm hungry."

Hannibal laughs, and parts from Will with one more kiss. "As you wish, darling."


End file.
